>»^  AN  n\ 


1\S- 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


REMINISCENCES    OF 

MY   CHILDHOOD 

AND  YOUTH 


REMINISCENCES    OF 

MY  CHILDHOOD 

AND  YOUTH 


BY 

GEORGE    BRANDES 


■r-.  It. :**'■■' I 


NEW  YORK 
DUFFIELD    &   COMPANY 

1906 


Copyright,   1906,   by 
DufReld   &   Company 


Published,  September,   1906 


CONTENTS 

DISCOVERING  THE   WORLD 

PAGE 

First  Impressions — Going  to  Bed — My  Name — Fresh  Elements — School — 
The  King — Town  and  Country — The  King's  Gardens — The  Friendly 
World — Inimical  Forces — The  World  Widens — The  Theatre — Prog- 
ress— Warlike  Instincts — School  Adventures  —  Polite  Accomplish- 
ments— My  Relations    i 

BOYHOOD'S   YEARS 

Our  House — Its  Inmates — My  Paternal  Grandfather — My  Maternal 
Grandfather — School  and  Home — Farum — My  Instructors — A  Fore- 
taste of  Life — Contempt  for  the  Masters — My  Mother — The  Mystery 
of  Life — My  First  Glimpse  of  Beauty — The  Head  Master — Religion 
— My  Standing  in  School — Self-esteem — An  Instinct  for  Literature — 
Private  Reading — Heine's  Bucli  dcr  Lieder — A  Broken  Friendship...     29 

TRANSITIONAL  YEARS 

School  Boy  Fancies — Religion — Early  Friends — Daemonic  Tlicory — A  West 
Indian  Friend — My  Acquaintance  Widens — Politics — The  Reaction- 
ary Party — The  David  Familj- — A  Student  Society — An  Excursion  to 
Slesvig — Temperament — The  Law — Hegel — Spinoza — Love  for  Hu- 
manity— A  Religious  Crisis — Doubt — Personal  Immortality — Renun- 
ciation           67 

ADOLESCENCE 

Julius  Lange — A  New  Master — Inadaption  to  the  Law — The  University 
Prize  Competition — An  Interview  with  the  Judges — Meeting  of  Scan- 
dinavian   Students — Tiie    Paludan-Miillers — Bjornstjerne     Bjornson — 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Magdalene  Thoresen — The  Gold  Medal — The  Death  of  King  Fred- 
erik  VII — The  Political  Situation — My  Master  of  Arts  Examination 
— War — Admissus  cum  laude  pracc'ipiia — Academical  Attention — Lec- 
turing— Music — Nature — A  Walking  Tour — In  Print — Philosophical 
Life  in   Denmark — Death  of  Ludwig  David — Stockholm 112 


FIRST   LONG    SOJOURN    ABROAD 

My  Wish  to  See  Paris — Dualism  in  our  Modern  Philosophy — A  Journey — 
Impressions  of  Paris — Lessons  in  French — Mademoiselle  Mathilde — 
Taine    163 


EARLY   MANHOOD 

Feud  in  Danish  Literature — Riding — Youthful  Longings — On  the  Rack — 
My  First  Living  Erotic  Realit}- — An  Impression  of  the  Miseries  of 
Modern  Coercive  Marriage — Researches  on  the  Comic — Dramatic 
Criticism — A  Trip  to  Germany — Johanne  Louise  Heiberg — Magda- 
lene Thoresen — Rudolph  Bergh — The  Sisters  Spang — A  Foreign  Ele- 
ment— The  Woman  Subject — Orla  Lehmann — M.  Goldschmidt — Pub- 
lic Opposition — A  Letter  from  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson — Hard  Work..   178 


SECOND    LONGER   STAY   ABROAD 

Hamburg — My  Second  Fatherland — Ernest  Hello — Le  Docteur  Noir — 
Taine — Renan — Marcelin — Gleyre  —  Taine's  Friendship  —  Renan  at 
Home — Philarete  Chasles'  Reminiscences — Le  Theatre  Franqais — 
Coquelin — Bernhardt — Beginnings  of  Main  Currents — The  Tuileries — 
John  Stuart  Mill — London — Philosophical  Studies — London  and  Paris 
Compared — Antonio  Gallenga  and  His  Wife — Don  Juan  Prim — Na- 
poleon III — London  Theatres — Gladstone  and  Disraeli  in  Debate — 
Paris  on  the  Eve  of  War — First  Reverses — Flight  from  Paris — Ge- 
neva, Switzerland — Italy — Pasquale  Villari — Vinnie  Ream's  Friend- 
ship—  Roman  Fever  —  Henrik  Ibsen's  Influence  —  Scandinavians  in 
Rome     233 


CONTENTS 
FILOMENA 

PAGB 

Italian   Landladies— The    Carnival— The  Moccoli  Feast— Filomena's  Views  342 

SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Continued 

Reflections  on  the  Future  of  Denmark — Conversations  with  Guiseppe 
Saredo  —  Frascati  —  Native  Beauty  —  New  Susceptibilities — Georges 
Noufllard's  Influence— The  Sistlne  Chapel  and  Michael  Angelo— 
Raphael's  Loggias — A  Radiant  Spring 369 


REMINISCENCES    OF 

MY   CHILDHOOD 

AND  YOUTH 


DISCOVERING   THE   WORLD 

First  Impressions — Going  to  Bed — My  Name — Fresh  Elements — School — 
The  King — Town  and  Country — The  King's  Gardens — The  Friendly 
World — Inimiccil  Forces — The  World  Widens — The  Theatre — Progress 
— Warlike  Instincts — School  Adventures — Polite  Accomplishments — My 
Relations. 

I. 

HE  was  little  and  looked  at  the  world  from  below. 
All  that  happened,  went  on  over  his  head.  Every- 
one looked  down  to  him. 

But  the  big  people  possessed  the  enviable  power  of  lift- 
ing him  to  their  own  height  or  above  it.  It  might  so  happen 
that  suddenly,  without  preamble,  as  he  lay  on  the  floor,  rum- 
maging and  playing  about  and  thinking  of  nothing  at  all,  his 
father  or  a  visitor  would  exclaim :  "  Would  you  like  to  see 
the  fowls  of  Kjoge?"  And  with  the  same  he  would  feel 
two  large  hands  placed  over  his  ears  and  the  arms  belonging 
to  them  would  shoot  straight  up  into  the  air.  That  was  de- 
lightful. Still,  there  was  some  disappointment  mingled  with 
it.  "  Can  you  see  Kjoge  now?"  was  a  question  he  could 
make  nothing  of.  What  could  Kjoge  be?  But  at  the  other 
question:  "  Do  you  see  the  fowls?  "  he  vainly  tried  to  see 
something  or  other.  By  degrees  he  understood  that  it  was 
only  a  phrase,  and  that  there  was  nothing  to  look  for. 

It  was  his  first  experience  of  empty  phrases,  and  it  made 
an  impression. 

It  was  just  as  great  fun,  though,  when  the  big  people 
said  to  him:  "Would  you  like  to  be  a  fat  lamb?  Let  us 
play  at  fat  lamb."  He  would  be  flung  over  the  man's 
shoulder,  like  a  slaughtered  lamb,  and  hang  there,  or  jump  up 
and  ride  with  his  legs  round  the  man's  hips,  then  climb  val- 
iantly several  steps  higher,  get  his  legs  round  his  shoulders, 


2  REMINISCENCES 

and  behold!  be  up  on  the  giddy  height!  Then  the  man 
would  take  him  round  the  waist,  swing  him  over,  and  after  a 
mighty  somersault  in  the  air,  he  would  land  unscathed  on  his 
feet  upon  the  floor.  It  was  a  composite  kind  of  treat,  of 
three  successive  stages:  first  came  the  lofty  and  comfortable 
seat,  then  the  more  interesting  moment,  with  a  feeling,  never- 
theless, of  being  on  the  verge  of  a  fall,  and  then  finally  the 
jump,  during  which  everything  was  upside  down  to  him. 

But,  too,  he  could  take  up  attitudes  down  on  the  floor 
that  added  to  his  importance,  as  it  were,  and  obliged  the 
grown-up  people  to  look  at  him.  When  they  said:  "  Can 
you  stand  like  the  Emperor  Napoleon?  "  he  would  draw  him- 
self up,  bring  one  foot  a  little  forward,  and  cross  his  arms 
like  the  little  figure  on  the  bureau. 

He  knew  well  enough  just  how  he  had  to  look,  for  when 
his  stout,  broad-shouldered  Swedish  uncle,  with  the  big  beard 
and  large  hands,  having  asked  his  parents  about  the  little 
fellow's  accomplishments,  placed  himself  in  position  with  his 
arms  crossed  and  asked:  "Who  am  I  like?"  he  replied: 
*'  You  are  like  Napoleon's  lackey."  To  his  surprise,  but  no 
small  delight,  this  reply  elicited  a  loud  exclamation  of  pleas- 
ure from  his  mother,  usually  so  superior  and  so  strict,  and 
was  rewarded  by  her,  who  seldom  caressed,  with  a  kiss. 

II. 

The  trying  moment  of  the  day  was  when  he  had  to  go 
to  bed.  His  parents  were  extraordinarily  prejudiced  about 
bedtime,  just  when  he  was  enjoying  himself  most.  When 
visitors  had  arrived  and  conversation  was  well  started — 
none  the  less  interesting  to  him  because  he  understood 
scarcely  half  of  what  was  said — it  was:    "  Now,  to  bed!  " 

But  there  w^ere  happy  moments  after  he  was  in  bed,  too. 
When  Mother  came  in  and  said  prayers  with  him,  and  he 
lay  there  safely  fenced  In  by  the  tall  trellis-work,  each  bar  of 
which,  with  its  little  outward  bend  in  the  middle,  his  fingers 
knew  so  well,  it  was  impossible  to  fall  out  through  them.  It 
was  very  pleasant,  the  little  bed  with  its  railing,  and  he  slept 
in  it  as  he  has  never  slept  since. 


DISCOVERING   THE   WORLD  3 

It  was  nice,  too,  to  lie  on  his  back  in  bed  and  watch  his 
parents  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  theatre,  Father  in  a  shining 
white  shirt  and  with  his  curly  hair  beautifully  parted  on  one 
side.  Mother  with  a  crepe  shawl  over  her  silk  dress,  and 
light  gloves  that  smelled  inviting  as  she  came  up  to  say  good- 
night and  good-bye. 

III. 

I  was  always  hearing  that  I  was  pale  and  thin  and  small. 
That  was  the  impression  I  made  on  everyone.  Nearly  thirty 
years  afterwards  an  observant  person  remarked  to  me  :  "  The 
peculiarity  about  your  face  is  its  intense  paleness."  Conse- 
quently I  looked  darker  than  I  was ;  my  brown  hair  was  called 
black. 

Pale  and  thin,  with  thick  brown  hair,  difficult  hair.  That 
was  what  the  hairdresser  said — Mr.^  Alibert,  who  called  Fea- 
ther Erre:  "Good-morning,  Erre,"  "Good-bye,  Erre."  And 
all  his  assistants,  though  as  Danish  as  they  could  be,  tried  to 
say  the  same.  Difficult  hair!  "  There  is  a  little  round  place 
on  his  crown  where  the  hair  will  stand  up,  if  he  does  not  wear 
it  rather  long,"  said  Mr,  Alibert. 

I  was  forever  hearing  that  I  was  pale  and  small,  pale 
in  particular.  Strangers  would  look  at  me  and  say :  "  He  is 
rather  pale."  Others  remarked  in  joke :  "  He  looks  rather 
green  in  the  face."  And  so  soon  as  they  began  talking  about 
me  the  word  "  thin  "  would  be  uttered. 

I  liked  my  name.  My  mother  and  my  aunts  said  It  in 
such  a  kindly  way.  And  the  name  was  noteworthy  because 
it  was  so  difficult  to  pronounce.  No  boy  or  girl  smaller  than 
I  could  pronounce  it  properly;  they  all  said  Gayrok. 

I  came  into  the  world  two  months  too  soon,  I  was  in 
such  a  hurry.  My  mother  was  alone  and  had  no  help.  When 
the  midwife  came  I  had  arrived  already.  I  was  so  feeble  that 
the  first  few  years  great  care  had  to  be  taken  of  me  to  keep  me 
alive.  I  was  well  made  enough,  but  not  strong,  and  this  was 
the  source  of  many  vexations  to  me  during  those  years  when 
a  boy's  one  desire  and  one  ambition  is  to  be  strong. 

'Danish   II erre. 


4  REMINISCENCES 

I  was  not  clumsy,  very  agile  if  anything;  I  learnt  to  be 
a  good  high  jumper,  to  climb  and  run  well,  was  no  contemp- 
tible wrestler,  and  by  degrees  became  an  expert  fighter.  But 
I  was  not  muscularly  strong,  and  never  could  be  compared 
with  those  who  were  so. 

IV. 

The  world,  meanwhile,  was  so  new,  and  still  such  an 
unknown  country.  About  that  time  I  was  making  the  dis- 
covery of  fresh  elements. 

I  was  not  afraid  of  what  I  did  not  like.  To  overcome 
dislike  of  a  thing  often  satisfied  one's  feeling  of  honour. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  the  water?  "  asked  my  brisk  uncle 
from  Fiinen  one  day.  I  did  not  know  exactly  what  there  was 
to  be  afraid  of,  but  answered  unhesitatingly:  "  No."  I  was 
five  years  old;  it  was  Summer,  consequently  rainy  and  windy. 

I  undressed  in  the  bathing  establishment;  the  old  sailor 
fastened  a  cork  belt  round  my  waist.  It  was  odiously  wet,  as 
another  boy  had  just  taken  it  off,  and  it  made  me  shiver. 
Uncle  took  hold  of  me  round  the  waist,  tossed  me  out  mto 
the  water,  and  taught  me  to  take  care  of  myself.  Afterwards 
I  learnt  to  swim  properly  with  the  help  of  a  long  pole  fas- 
tened to  the  cork  belt  and  held  by  the  bathing-man,  but  my 
familiarity  with  the  salt  element  dated  from  the  day  I  was 
flung  out  into  it  like  a  little  parcel.  Without  by  any  means 
distinguishing  myself  in  swimming,  any  more  than  In  any 
other  athletic  exercise,  I  became  a  very  fair  swimmer,  and 
developed  a  fondness  for  the  water  and  for  bathing  which 
has  made  me  very  loth,  all  my  life,  to  miss  my  bath  a  single 
day. 

There  was  another  element  that  I  became  acquainted 
with  about  the  same  time,  and  which  was  far  more  terrifying 
than  the  water.      I  had  never  seen  it  uncontrolled:  fire. 

One  evening,  when  I  was  asleep  in  the  nursery,  I  was 
awaked  by  my  mother  and  her  brother,  my  French  uncle. 
The  latter  said  loudly:  "We  must  take  the  children  out 
of  bed." 

I  had  never  been  awaked  in  the  night  before.     I  opened 


DISCOVERING  THE   WORLD  5 

my  eyes  and  was  thrilled  by  a  terror,  the  memory  of  which 
has  never  been  effaced.  The  room  was  brightly  Illuminated 
without  any  candle  having  been  lighted,  and  when  I  turned 
my  head  1  saw  a  huge  blaze  shoot  up  outside  the  window. 
Flames  crackled  and  sparks  flew.  It  was  a  world  of  fire. 
It  was  a  neighbouring  school  that  was  burning.  Uncle  Jacob 
put  his  hand  under  my  "  night  gown,"  a  long  article  of  cloth- 
ing with  a  narrow  cotton  belt  round  the  waist,  and  said  laugh- 
ing: "  Do  you  have  palpitations  of  the  heart  when  you  are 
afraid?  "  I  had  never  heard  of  palpitations  of  the  heart 
before.  I  felt  about  with  my  hand  and  for  the  first  time 
found  my  heart,  which  really  was  beating  furiously.  Small 
though  I  was,  I  asked  the  date  and  was  told  that  it  was  the 
25th  of  November;  the  fright  I  had  had  was  so  great  that  I 
never  forgot  this  date,  which  became  for  me  the  object  of  a 
superstitious  dread,  and  when  It  drew  near  the  following 
year,  I  was  convinced  that  it  would  bring  me  fresh  misfor- 
tune. This  was  In  so  far  the  case  that  next  year,  at  exactly 
the  same  time,  I  fell  ill  and  was  obliged  to  spend  some  months 
in  bed. 

V. 

I  was  too  delicate  to  be  sent  to  school  at  five  years  old, 
like  other  boys.  My  doctor  uncle  said  it  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  Since,  however,  I  could  not  grow  up  altogether 
in  ignorance,  it  was  decided  that  I  should  have  a  tutor  of 
my  own. 

So  a  tutor  was  engaged  who  quickly  won  my  unreserved 
affection  and  made  me  very  happy.  The  tutor  came  every 
morning  and  taught  me  all  I  had  to  learn.  He  was  a  tutor 
whom  one  could  ask  about  anything  under  the  sun  and  he 
would  always  know.  First,  there  was  the  ABC.  That  was 
mastered  in  a  few  lessons.  I  could  read  before  I  knew  how 
to  spell.  Then  came  writing  and  arithmetic  and  still  more 
things.  I  was  soon  so  far  advanced  that  the  tutor  could  read 
Frithiofs  Saga  aloud  to  me  In  Swedish  and  be  tolerably  well 
understood;  and,  indeed,  he  could  even  take  a  short  German 
extract,  and  explain  that  I  must  say  kh  and  not  ish,  as  seemed 
so  natural. 


6  REMINISCENCES 

Mr.  Voltelen  was  a  poor  student,  and  I  quite  under- 
stood from  the  conversation  of  my  elders  what  a  pleasure 
and  advantage  it  was  to  him  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee  extra 
and  fine  white  bread  and  fresh  butter  with  it  every  day.  On 
the  stroke  of  half-past  ten  the  maid  brought  it  in  on  a  tray. 
Lessons  were  stopped,  and  the  tutor  ate  and  drank  with  a 
relish  that  I  had  never  seen  anyone  show  over  eating  and 
drinking  before.  The  very  way  in  which  he  took  his  sugar — 
more  sugar  than  Father  or  Mother  took — and  dissolved  it  in 
the  coffee  before  he  poured  in  the  cream,  showed  what  a  treat 
the  cup  of  coffee  was  to  him. 

Mr.  Voltelen  had  a  delicate  chest,  and  sometimes  the 
grown-up  people  said  they  were  afraid  he  could  not  live. 
There  was  a  report  that  a  rich  benefactor,  named  Nobel,  had 
offered  to  send  him  to  Italy,  that  he  might  recover  in  the 
warmer  climate  of  the  South.  It  was  generous  of  Mr.  Nobel, 
and  Mr.  Voltelen  was  thinking  of  starting.  Then  he  caught 
another  complaint.  He  had  beautiful,  brown,  curly  hair. 
One  day  he  stayed  away;  he  had  a  bad  head,  he  had  con- 
tracted a  disease  in  his  hair  from  a  dirty  comb  at  a  bathing 
establishment.  And  when  he  came  again  I  hardly  recog- 
nised him.  He  wore  a  little  dark  wig.  He  had  lost  every 
hair  on  his  head,  even  his  eyebrows  had  disappeared.  His 
face  was  of  a  chalky  pallor,  and  he  coughed  badly  too. 

Why  did  not  God  protect  him  from  consumption  ?  And 
how  could  God  find  it  in  His  heart  to  give  him  the  hair  dis- 
ease when  he  was  so  ill  already?  God  was  strange.  He  was 
Almighty,  but  He  did  not  use  His  might  to  take  care  of  Mr. 
Voltelen,  who  was  so  good  and  so  clever,  and  so  poor  that 
he  needed  help  more  than  anyone  else.  Mr.  Nobel  was 
kinder  to  Mr.  Voltelen  than  God  was.  God  was  strange, 
too,  in  other  ways;  He  was  present  everywhere,  and  yet 
Mother  was  cross  and  angry  if  you  asked  whether  He  was  in 
the  new  moderator  lamp,  which  burnt  in  the  drawing-room 
with  a  much  brighter  light  than  the  two  wax  candles  used  to 
give.  God  knew  everything,  which  was  very  uncomfortable, 
since  it  was  impossible  to  hide  the  least  thing  from  Him. 
Strangest  of  all  was  it  when  one  reflected  that,  if  one  knew 
what  God  thought  one  was  going  to  say,  one  could  say  some- 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  7 

thing  else  and  His  omniscience  would  be  foiled.  But  of 
course  one  did  not  know  what  He  thought  would  come  next. 
The  worst  of  all,  though,  was  that  He  left  Mr.  Voltelen  in 
the  lurch  so. 

VI. 

Some  flashes  of  terrestrial  majesty  and  magnificence 
shone  on  my  modest  existence.  Next  after  God  came  the 
King.  As  I  was  walking  along  the  street  one  day  with  my 
father,  he  exclaimed:  "  There  is  the  King!  "  I  looked  at 
the  open  carriage,  but  saw  nothing  noticeable  there,  so  fixed 
my  attention  upon  the  coachman,  dressed  in  red,  and  the  foot- 
man's plumed  hat.  *'  The  King  wasn't  there!  "  "  Yes,  in- 
deed he  was — he  was  in  the  carriage."  **  Was  that  the 
King?  He  didn't  look  at  all  remarkable — he  had  no  crown 
on,"  "  The  King  is  a  handsome  man,"  said  Father.  "  But 
he  only  puts  on  his  state  clothes  when  he  drives  to  the  Su- 
preme Court." 

So  we  went  one  day  to  see  the  King  drive  to  the  Su- 
preme Court.  A  crowd  of  people  were  standing  waiting 
at  the  Naval  Church.  Then  came  the  procession.  How 
splendid  it  was !  There  were  runners  in  front  of  the  horses, 
with  white  silk  stockings  and  regular  flower-pots  on  their 
heads;  I  had  never  seen  anything  like  it;  and  there  were 
postillions  riding  on  the  horses  in  front  of  the  carriage.  I 
quite  forgot  to  look  inside  the  carriage  and  barely  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  King.  And  that  glimpse  made  no  impres- 
sion upon  me.  That  he  was  Christian  VIII.  I  did  not  know; 
he  was  only  "  the  King." 

Then  one  day  we  heard  that  the  King  was  dead,  and 
that  he  was  to  lie  in  state  twice.  These  lyings  in  state  were 
called  by  forced,  unnatural  names.  Lit  de  Parade  and  Cas- 
triim  doloris;  I  heard  them  so  often  that  I  learnt  them  and 
did  not  forget  them.  On  the  Lit  de  Parade  the  body  of  the 
King  himself  lay  outstretched;  that  was  too  sad  for  a  little 
boy.  But  Castriivi  doloris  was  sheer  delight,  and  it  really 
was  splendid.  First  you  picked  your  way  for  a  long  time 
along  narrow  corridors,  then  high  up  in  the  black-draped  hall 
appeared  the  coflSin  covered  with  black  velvet,  strewn  with 


8  REMINISCENCES 

shining,  twinkling  stars.     And  a  crowd  of  candles  all  round. 
It  was  the  most  magnificent  sight  I  had  ever  beheld. 

VII. 

I  was  a  town  child,  it  is  true,  but  that  did  not  prevent 
me  enjoying  open-air  life,  with  plants  and  animals.  The 
country  was  not  so  far  from  town  then  as  it  is  now.  My  pa- 
ternal grandfather  had  a  country-house  a  little  way  beyond 
the  North  gate,  with  fine  trees  and  an  orchard;  it  was  the 
property  of  an  old  man  who  went  about  in  high  Wellington 
boots  and  had  a  regular  collection  of  wax  apples  and  pears — 
such  a  marvellous  imitation  that  the  first  time  you  saw  them 
you  couldn't  help  taking  a  bite  out  of  one.  Driving  out  to  the 
country-house  in  the  Summer,  the  carriage  would  begin  to 
lumber  and  rumble  as  soon  as  you  passed  through  the  North 
gate,  and  when  you  came  back  you  had  to  be  careful  to  come 
in  before  the  gate  was  closed. 

We  lived  in  the  country  ourselves,  for  that  matter,  out  in 
the  western  suburb,  near  the  Black  Horse  (as  later  during  the 
cholera  Summer),  or  along  the  old  King's  Road,  where  there 
were  beautiful  large  gardens.  In  one  such  a  huge  garden  I 
stood  one  Summer  day  by  my  mother's  side  in  front  of  a  large 
oblong  bed  with  many  kinds  of  flowers.  "  This  bed  shall  be 
yours,"  said  Mother,  and  happy  was  I.  I  was  to  rake  the 
paths  round  it  myself  and  tend  and  water  the  plants  in  it. 
I  was  particularly  interested  to  notice  that  a  fresh  set  of  flow- 
ers came  out  for  every  season  of  the  year.  When  the  asters 
and  dahlias  sprang  into  bloom  the  Summer  was  over.  Still 
the  garden  was  not  the  real  country.  The  real  country  was 
at  Inger's,  my  dear  old  nurse's.  She  was  called  my  nurse  be- 
cause she  had  looked  after  me  when  I  was  small.  But  she 
had  not  fed  me,  my  mother  had  done  that. 

Inger  lived  in  a  house  with  fields  round  it  near  High 
Taastrup.  There  was  no  railway  there  then,  and  you  drove 
out  with  a  pair  of  horses.  It  was  only  later  that  the 
wonderful  railway  was  laid  as  far  as  Roskilde.  So  it  was  an 
unparalleled  event  for  the  children,  to  go  by  train  to  Valby 
and  back.     Their  father  took  them.     Many  people  thought 


DISCOVERING  THE   WORLD  9 

that  it  was  too  dangerous.  But  the  children  cared  little  for 
the  danger.    And  it  went  off  all  right  and  they  returned  alive. 

Inger  had  a  husband  whose  name  was  Peer.  He  was 
nice,  but  had  not  much  to  say.  Inger  talked  far  more  and 
looked  after  everything.  They  had  a  baby  boy  named  Niels, 
but  he  was  in  the  cradle  and  did  not  count.  Everything  at 
Inger  and  Peer's  house  was  different  from  the  town.  There 
was  a  curious  smell  in  the  rooms,  with  their  chests  of  draw- 
ers and  benches,  not  exactly  disagreeable,  but  unforgettable. 
They  had  much  larger  dishes  of  curds  and  porridge  than  you 
saw  in  Copenhagen.  They  did  not  put  the  porridge  or  the 
curds  on  plates.  Inger  and  Peer  and  their  little  visitor  sat 
round  the  milk  bowl  or  the  porridge  dish  and  put  their  spoons 
straight  into  it.  But  the  guest  had  a  spoon  to  himself.  They 
did  not  drink  out  of  separate  glasses,  but  he  had  a  glass  to 
himself. 

It  was  jolly  in  the  country.  A  cow  and  little  pigs  to  play 
with  and  milk  warm  from  the  cow.  Inger  used  to  churn, 
and  there  was  buttermilk  to  drink.  It  was  great  fun  for  a 
little  Copenhagen  boy  to  roll  about  in  the  hay  and  lie  on  the 
hay-waggons  when  they  were  driven  home.  And  every  time 
I  came  home  from  a  visit  to  Inger  Mother  would  laugh  at  me 
the  moment  I  opened  my  mouth,  for,  quite  unconsciously,  I 
talked  just  like  Inger  and  the  other  peasants. 

VIII. 

In  the  wood  attic,  a  little  room  divided  from  the 
main  garret  by  wooden  bars,  in  which  a  quantity  of  split 
firewood  and  more  finely  chopped  fir  sticks,  smelling  fresh 
and  dry,  are  piled  up  in  obliquely  arranged  heaps,  a  little 
urchin  with  tightly  closed  mouth  and  obstinate  expression 
has,  for  more  than  two  hours,  been  bearing  his  punishment 
of  being  incarcerated  there. 

Several  times  already  his  anxious  mother  has  sent  the 
housemaid  to  ask  whether  he  will  beg  pardon  yet,  and  he  has 
only  shaken  his  head.  He  is  hungry;  for  he  was  brought  up 
here  immediately  after  school.  But  he  will  not  give  in,  for 
he  is  in  the  right.     It  is  not  his  fault  that  the  grown-up 


lo  REMINISCENCES 

people  cannot  understand  him.  They  do  not  know  that  what 
he  is  suffering  now  is  nothing  to  what  he  has  had  to  suffer. 
It  is  true  that  he  would  not  go  with  the  nurse  and  his  little 
brother  into  the  King's  Gardens.  But  what  do  Father  and 
Mother  know  of  the  ignominy  of  hearing  all  day  from  the 
other  schoolboys:  "  Oh!  so  you  are  fetched  by  the  nurse!  " 
or  '*  Here  comes  your  nurse  to  fetch  you!  "  He  is  over- 
whelmed with  shame  at  the  thought  of  the  other  boys'  scorn. 
She  is  not  his  nurse,  she  is  his  brother's.  He  could  find  his 
way  home  well  enough,  but  how  can  he  explain  to  the  other 
boys  that  his  parents  will  not  trust  him  with  the  little  one  yet, 
and  so  send  for  them  both  at  the  same  time !  Now  there 
shall  be  an  end  to  ft;  he  will  not  go  to  the  King's  Gardens 
with  the  nurse  again. 

It  is  the  housemaid,  once  more,  come  to  ask  if  he  will 
not  beg  pardon  now.  In  vain.  Everything  has  been  tried 
with  him,  scolding,  and  even  a  box  on  the  ear;  but  he  has  not 
been  humbled.     Now  he  stands  here;  he  will  not  give  in. 

But  this  time  his  kind  mother  has  not  let  the  girl  come 
empty-handed.  His  meal  is  passed  through  the  bars  and  he 
eats  it.  It  is  so  much  the  easier  to  hold  out.  And  some 
hours  later  he  is  brought  down  and  put  to  bed  without  having 
apologised. 

Before  I  had  so  painfully  become  aware  of  the  ignominy 
of  going  with  the  maid  to  the  King's  Gardens,  I  had  been  ex- 
ceedingly fond  of  the  place.  What  gardens  they  were  for 
hide  and  seek,  and  puss  in  the  corner!  What  splendid  alleys 
for  playing  Paradise,  with  Heaven  and  Hell !  To  say  noth- 
ing of  playing  at  horses !  A  long  piece  of  tape  was  passed 
over  and  under  the  shoulders  of  two  playfellows,  and  you 
drove  them  with  a  tight  rein  and  a  whip  In  your  hand.  And 
if  it  were  fun  In  the  old  days  when  I  only  had  tape  for  relns^ 
it  was  ever  so  much  greater  fun  now  that  I  had  had  a  pres- 
ent from  my  father  of  splendid  broad  reins  of  striped  wool, 
with  bells,  that  you  could  hear  from  far  enough  when  the 
pair  came  tearing  down  the  wide  avenues. 

I  was  fond  of  the  gardens,  which  were  large  and  at  that 
time  much  larger  than  they  are  now;  and  of  the  trees,  which 
were  many,  at  that  time  many  more  than  now.     And  every 


DISCO\'ERlNG   THE   WORLD  il 

part  of  the  park  had  its  own  attraction.  The  Hercules  pa- 
vilion was  mysterious;  Hercules  with  the  lion,  instructive  and 
powerful.  A  pity  that  it  had  become  such  a  disgrace  to  go 
there ! 

I  had  not  known  it  before.  One  day,  not  so  long  ago, 
I  had  felt  particularly  happy  there.  I  had  been  able  for  a 
long  time  to  read  correctly  in  my  reading-book  and  write  on 
my  slate.  But  one  day  Mr.  Voltelen  had  said  to  me:  "  You 
ought  to  learn  to  read  writing."  And  from  that  moment 
forth  my  ambition  was  set  upon  reading  ivriting,  an  idea 
which  had  never  occurred  to  me  before.  When  my  tutor 
first  showed  me  writing,  it  had  looked  to  me  much  as  cunei- 
form inscriptions  and  hieroglyphics  would  do  to  ordinary 
grown-up  people,  but  by  degrees  I  managed  to  recognize  the 
letters  I  was  accustomed  to  in  this  their  freer,  more  frivo- 
lous disguise,  running  into  one  another  and  with  their  regu- 
larity broken  up.  In  the  first  main  avenue  of  the  King's 
Gardens  I  had  paced  up  and  down,  in  my  hand  the  thin  exer- 
cise-book, folded  over  In  the  middle, — the  first  book  of  writ- 
ing I  had  ever  seen, — and  had  already  spelt  out  the  title, 
"  Little  Red  Riding-Hood."  The  story  was  certainly  not  very 
long;  still,  it  filled  several  of  the  narrow  pages,  and  it  was 
exciting  to  spell  out  the  subject,  for  it  was  new  to  me.  In  tri- 
umphant delight  at  having  conquered  some  difficulties  and 
being  on  the  verge  of  conquering  others,  I  kept  stopping  in 
front  of  a  strange  nurse-girl,  showed  her  the  book,  and  asked: 
*'  Can  you  read  writing?  " 

Twenty-three  years  later  I  paced  up  and  down  the  same 
avenue  as  a  young  man,  once  more  with  a  book  of  manu- 
script, that  I  was  reading,  in  my  hand.  I  was  fixing  my  first 
lecture  in  my  mind,  and  I  repeated  it  over  and  over  again  to 
myself  until  I  knew  it  almost  by  heart,  only  to  discover,  to 
my  disquiet,  a  few  minutes  later,  that  I  had  forgotten  the 
whole,  and  that  was  bad  enough;  for  what  I  wished  to  say 
in  my  lecture  were  things  that  I  had  very  much  at  heart. 

The  King's  Garden  continued  to  occupy  its  place  in  my 
life.  Later  on,  for  so  many  years,  when  Spring  and  Sum- 
mer passed  by  and  I  was  tied  to  the  town,  and  pined  for  trees 
and  the  scent  of  flowers,  I  used  to  go  to  the  park,  cross  it  ob- 


12  REMINISCENCES 

llquely  to  the  beds  near  the  beautiful  copper  beeches,  by  the 
entrance  from  the  ramparts,  where  there  were  always  flowers, 
well  cared  for  and  sweet  scented.  I  caressed  them  with  my 
eyes,  and  inhaled  their  perfume  leaning  forward  over  the 
railings. 

But  just  now  I  preferred  to  be  shut  up  in  the  wood-loft 
to  being  fetched  by  the  nurse  from  school  to  the  Gardens.  It 
was  horrid,  too,  to  be  obliged  to  walk  so  slowly  with  the  girl, 
even  though  no  longer  obliged  to  take  hold  of  her  skirt. 
How  I  envied  the  boys  contemptuously  called  street  boys! 
They  could  run  in  and  out  of  the  courtyard,  shout  and  make 
as  much  noise  as  they  liked,  quarrel  and  fight  out  in  the 
street,  and  move  about  freely.  I  knew  plenty  of  streets. 
If  sent  into  the  town  on  an  errand  I  should  be  able  to  find 
my  way  quite  easily. 

And  at  last  I  obtained  permission.  Happy,  happy  dayl 
I  flew  off  like  an  arrow.  I  could  not  possibly  have  walked. 
And  I  ran  home  again  at  full  galop.  From  that  day  forth 
I  always  ran  when  I  had  to  go  out  alone.  Yes,  and  I  could 
not  understand  how  grown-up  people  and  other  boys  could 
walk.  I  tried  a  few  steps  to  see,  but  impatience  got  the  bet- 
ter of  me  and  off  I  flew.  It  was  fine  fun  to  run  till  you  posi- 
tively felt  the  hurry  you  were  in,  because  you  hit  your  back 
with  your  heels  at  every  step. 

My  father,  though,  could  run  very  much  faster.  It  was 
impossible  to  compete  with  him  on  the  grass.  But  it  was  as- 
tonishing how  slow  old  people  were.  Some  of  them  could 
not  run  up  a  hill  and  called  it  trying  to  climb  stairs. 

IX. 

On  the  whole,  the  world  was  friendly.  It  chiefly  de- 
pended on  whether  oae  were  good  or  not.  If  not,  Karoline 
was  especially  prone  to  complain  and  Father  and  Mother 
were  transformed  into  angry  powers.  Father  was,  of  course, 
a  much  more  serious  power  than  Mother,  a  more  distant, 
more  hard-handed  power.  Neither  of  them,  in  an  ordinary 
way,  inspired  any  terror.  They  were  in  the  main  protecting 
powers. 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  13 

The  terrifying  poAvcr  at  this  first  stage  was  supplied  by 
the  bogey-man.  He  came  rushing  suddenly  out  of  a  corner 
with  a  towel  in  front  of  his  face  and  said:  "  Bo!  "  and  you 
jumped.  If  the  towel  were  taken  away  there  soon  emerged 
a  laughing  face  from  behind  it.  Ihat  at  once  made  the  bogey- 
man less  terrible.  And  perhaps  that  was  the  reason  Maren's 
threat:  "Now,  if  you  are  not  good,  the  bogey-man  wdl 
come  and  take  you,"  quickly  lost  its  effect.  And  yet  it  was 
out  of  this  same  bogey-man,  so  cold-bloodedly  shaken  off, 
that  at  a  later  stage  a  personality  with  whom  there  was  no 
jesting  developed,  one  who  was  not  to  be  thrust  aside  In  the 
same  way,  a  personality  for  whom  you  felt  both  fear  and 
trembling — the  Devil  himself. 

But  it  was  only  later  that  he  revealed  himself  to  my  ken. 
It  was  not  he  who  succeeded  first  to  the  bogey-man.  It 
was — the  police.  The  police  was  the  strange  and  dreadful 
power  from  which  there  was  no  refuge  for  a  little  boy.  The 
police  came  and  took  him  away  from  his  parents,  away 
from  the  nursery  and  the  drawing-room,  and  put  him  In 
prison. 

In  the  street  the  police  wore  a  blue  coat  and  had  a  large 
cane  In  his  hand.  Woe  to  the  one  who  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  that  cane! 

My  maternal  grandfather  was  having  his  warehouse 
done  up,  a  large  warehouse,  three  stories  high.  Through 
doors  at  the  top,  just  under  the  gable  In  the  middle,  there 
Issued  a  crane,  and  from  It  hung  down  a  tremendously  thick 
rope  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  strong  Iron  hook.  By  means 
of  It  the  large  barrels  of  sky-blue  Indigo,  which  were  brought 
on  waggons,  were  hoisted.  Inside  the  warehouse  the  ropes 
passed  through  every  storey,  through  holes  In  the  floors. 
If  you  pulled  from  the  inside  at  the  one  or  the  other  of 
the  ropes,  the  rope  outside  with  the  iron  crook  went  up  or 
down. 

In  the  warehouse  you  found  Jens ;  he  was  a  big,  strong, 
taciturn,  majestic  man  with  a  red  nose  and  a  little  pipe  In  his 
mouth,  and  his  fingers  were  always  blue  from  the  indigo.  If 
you  had  made  sure  of  Jens'  good-will,  you  could  play  in  the 
warehouse  for  hours  at  a  time,  roll  the  empty  barrels  about, 


14  REMINISCENCES 

and — which  was  the  greatest  treat  of  all — pull  the  ropes. 
This  last  was  a  delight  that  kept  all  one's  faculties  at  extreme 
tension.  The  marvellous  thing  about  it  was  that  you  your- 
self stood  inside  the  house  and  pulled,  and  yet  at  the  same 
time  you  could  watch  through  the  open  doors  in  the  wall  how 
the  rope  outside  went  up  or  down.  How  it  came  about  was 
an  enigma.  But  you  had  the  refreshing  consciousness  of 
having  accomplished  somethmg — saw  the  results  of  your  ef- 
forts before  your  eyes. 

Nor  could  I  resist  the  temptation  of  pulling  the  ropes 
when  Jens  was  out  and  the  warehouse  empty.  My  little 
brother  had  whooping  cough,  so  I  could  not  live  at  home,  but 
had  to  be  at  my  grandfather's.  One  day  Jens  surprised  me 
and  pretty  angry  he  was.  "  A  nice  little  boy  you  are!  If 
you  pull  the  rope  at  a  wrong  time  you  will  cut  the  expensive 
rope  through,  and  it  cost  90  Rigsdaler!  What  do  you  think 
your  grandfather  will  say?  "^ 

It  was,  of  course,  very  alarming  to  think  that  I  might 
destroy  such  a  valuable  thing.  Not  that  I  had  any  definite 
ideas  of  money  and  numbers.  I  was  well  up  in  the  multipli- 
cation table  and  was  constantly  wrestling  with  large  numbers, 
but  they  did  not  correspond  to  any  actual  conception  in  my 
mind.  When  I  reckoned  up  what  one  number  of  several 
digits  came  to  multiplied  by  another  of  much  about  the  same 
value,  I  had  not  the  least  idea  whether  Father  or  Grandfather 
had  so  many  Rigsdaler,  or  less,  or  more.  There  was  only  one 
of  the  uncles  who  took  an  interest  in  my  gift  for  multiplica- 
tion, and  that  was  my  stout,  rich  uncle  with  the  crooked 
mouth,  of  whom  it  was  said  that  he  owned  a  million,  and  who 
was  always  thinking  of  figures.  He  was  hardly  at  the  door 
of  Mother's  drawing-room  before  he  called  out:  ''  If  you  are 
a  sharp  boy  and  can  tell  me  what  27,374  times  580,208  are, 
you  shall  have  four  skilling;"  and  quickly  slate  and  pencil 
appeared  and  the  sum  was  finished  in  a  moment  and  the  four 
skilling  pocketed. - 

I  was  at  home  then  in  the  world  of  figures,  but  not  in 

*A   Rigsdaler   was    worth    about    two   shillings    and    threepence,    English 
money.     It  is  a  coin  that  has  been  out  of  use  about  40  years. 

•Four  skilling  would  be  a  sum  about  equal  to  i^d.  English  money. 


DISCOVERING  THE   WORLD  15 

that  of  values.  All  the  same,  It  would  be  a  terrible  thing  to 
destroy  such  a  value  as  90  Rigsdaler  seemed  to  be.  But 
might  it  not  be  that  Jens  only  said  so?  He  surely  could  not 
see  from  the  rope  whether  it  had  been  pulled  or  not. 

So  I  did  it  again,  and  one  day  when  Jens  began  question- 
ing me  sternly  could  not  deny  my  guilt.  "  I  saw  it,"  said 
Jens;  "  the  rope  is  nearly  cut  in  two,  and  now  you  will  catch 
it,  now  the  policeman  will  come  and  fetch  you." 

For  weeks  after  that  I  did  not  have  one  easy  hour. 
Wherever  I  went,  or  whatever  I  did,  the  fear  of  the  police 
followed  me.  I  dared  not  speak  to  anyone  of  what  I  had 
done  and  of  what  was  awaiting  me.  I  was  too  much 
ashamed,  and  I  noticed,  too,  that  my  parents  knew  nothing. 
But  if  a  door  opened  suddenly  I  would  look  anxiously  at  the 
incomer.  When  I  was  walking  with  the  nurse  and  my  little 
brother  I  looked  all  round  on  every  side,  and  frequently 
peeped  behind  me,  to  see  whether  the  police  were  after 
me.  Even  when  I  lay  in  my  bed,  shut  in  on  all  four 
sides  by  its  trellis-work,  the  dread  of  the  police  was  upon 
me  still. 

There  was  only  one  person  to  whom  I  dared  mention  it, 
and  that  was  Jens.  When  a  few  weeks  had  gone  by  I  tried 
to  get  an  answer  out  of  him.  Then  I  perceived  that  Jens  did 
not  even  know  what  I  was  talking  about.  Jens  had  evidently 
forgotten  all  about  it.  Jens  had  been  making  fun  of  me.  If 
my  relief  was  immense,  my  indignation  was  no  less.  So  much 
torture  for  nothing  at  all !  Older  people,  who  had  noticed 
how  the  word  "  police  "  was  to  me  an  epitome  of  all  that  was 
terrible,  sometimes  made  use  of  it  as  an  explanation  of  things 
that  they  thought  were  above  my  comprehension. 

When  I  was  six  years  old  I  heard  the  word  "  war  "  for 
the  first  time.  I  did  not  know  what  it  was,  and  asked.  "  It 
means,"  said  one  of  my  aunts,  "  that  the  Germans  have  put 
police  in  Schleswig  and  forbidden  the  Danes  to  go  there,  and 
that  they  will  beat  them  if  they  stay  there."  That  I  could 
understand,  but  afterwards  I  heard  them  talking  about  sol- 
diers. "  Are  there  soldiers  as  well  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Police  and 
soldiers,"  was  the  answer.  But  that  confused  me  altogether, 
for  the  two  things  belonged  in  my  mind  to  wholly  different 


i6  .  REMINISCENCES 

categories.  Soldiers  were  beautiful,  gay-coloured  men  with 
shakos,  who  kept  guard  and  marched  in  step  to  the  sound  of 
drums  and  fifes  and  music,  till  you  longed  to  go  with  them. 
That  was  why  soldiers  were  copied  in  tin  and  you  got  them 
on  your  birthday  In  boxes.  But  police  went  by  themselves, 
without  music,  without  beautiful  colours  on  their  uniforms, 
looked  stern  and  threatening,  and  had  a  stick  in  their  hands. 
Nobody  dreamt  of  copying  them  in  tin.  I  was  very  much 
annoyed  to  find  out,  as  I  soon  did,  that  I  had  been  misled 
by  the  explanation  and  that  It  was  a  question  of  soldiers 
only. 

Not  a  month  had  passed  before  I  began  to  follow 
eagerly,  when  the  grown-up  people  read  aloud  from  the  far- 
thing newspaper  sheets  about  the  battles  at  Bov,  Nybbol,  etc. 
The  Danes  always  won.  At  bottom,  war  was  a  cheerful 
thing. 

Then  one  day  an  unexpected  and  overwhelming  thing 
happened.  Mother  was  sitting  with  her  work  on  the  little 
raised  platform  in  the  drawing-room,  in  front  of  the  sewing- 
table  with  its  many  little  compartments,  In  which,  under  the 
loose  mahogany  lid,  there  lay  so  many  beautiful  and  wonder- 
ful things — rings  and  lovely  earrings,  with  pearls  In  them — 
when  the  door  to  the  kitchen  opened  and  the  maid  came  In. 
"  Has  Madame  heard?  The  Christian  Fill,  has  been  blown 
up  at  Eckernforde  and  the  Gefion  is  taken." 

"  Can  it  be  possible?  "  said  Mother.  And  she  leaned 
over  the  sewing-table  and  burst  into  tears,  positively  sobbed. 
It  impressed  me  as  nothing  had  ever  done  before.  I  had 
never  seen  Mother  cry.  Grown-up  people  did  not  cry.  I  did 
not  even  know  that  they  could.  And  now  Mother  was  cry- 
ing till  the  tears  streamed  down  her  face.  I  did  not  know 
what  either  the  Christian  Fill,  or  the  Gefion  were,  and  It  was 
only  now  that  the  maid  explained  to  me  that  they  were  ships. 
But  I  understood  that  a  great  misfortune  had  happened,  and 
soon,  too,  how  people  were  blown  up  with  gunpowder,  and 
what  a  good  thing  it  was  that  one  of  our  acquaintances,  an 
active  young  man  who  was  liked  by  everyone  and  always  got 
on  well,  had  escaped  with  a  whole  skin,  and  had  reached 
Copenhagen  in  civilian's  dress. 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  17 

X. 

About  this  time  it  dawned  upon  me  in  a  measure  what 
birth  and  death  were.  Birth  was  something  that  came  quite 
unexpectedly,  and  afterwards  there  was  one  child  more  in  the 
house.  One  day,  when  I  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  between 
Grandmamma  and  Grandpapa  at  their  dining-table  in  Klare- 
boderne,  having  dinner  with  a  fairly  large  company,  the  door 
at  the  back  of  the  room  just  opposite  to  me  opened.  My 
father  stood  in  the  doorway,  and,  without  a  good-morning, 
said:  "You  have  got  a  little  brother" — and  there  really 
was  a  little  one  in  a  cradle  when  I  went  home. 

Death  I  had  hitherto  been  chiefly  acquainted  with  from 
a  large,  handsome  painting  on  Grandfather's  wall,  the  death 
of  the  King  not  having  affected  me.  The  picture  represented 
a  garden  In  which  Aunt  Rosette  sat  on  a  white-painted  bench, 
while  in  front  of  her  stood  Uncle  Edward  with  curly  hair  and 
a  blouse  on,  holding  out  a  flower  to  her.  But  Uncle  Edward 
was  dead,  had  died  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  as  he  had 
been  such  a  very  good  boy,  everyone  was  very  sorry  that  they 
were  not  going  to  see  him  again.  And  now  they  were  always 
talking  about  death.  So  and  so  many  dead,  so  and  so  many 
wounded!     And  all  the  trouble  was  caused  by  the  Enemy. 

XI. 

There  were  other  mimical  forces,  too,  besides  the  police 
and  the  Enemy,  more  uncanny  and  less  palpable  forces. 
When  I  dragged  behind  the  nursemaid  who  held  my  younger 
brother  by  the  hand,  sometimes  I  heard  a  shout  behind  me, 
and  if  I  turned  round  would  see  a  grinning  boy,  making  faces 
and  shaking  his  fist  at  me.  For  a  long  time  I  took  no  par- 
ticular notice,  but  as  time  went  on  I  heard  the  shout  oftener 
and  asked  the  maid  what  it  meant.  "  Oh,  nothing!  "  she  re- 
plied. But  on  my  repeatedly  asking  she  simply  said :  '*  It  is 
a  bad  word." 

But  one  day,  when  I  had  heard  the  shout  again,  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  I  would  know,  and  when  I  came  home  asked 
my  mother:    '  What  does  it  mean?  "  "  Jew!  "  said  Mother. 


i8  REMINISCENCES 

•'  Jews  are  people."  "  Nasty  people?  "  "  Yes,"  said  Mother, 
smiling,  **  sometimes  very  ugly  people,  but  not  always." 
"Could  I  see  a  Jew?"  "Yes,  very  easily,"  said  Mother, 
lifting  me  up  quickly  in  front  of  the  large  oval  mirror  above 
the  sofa. 

I  uttered  a  shriek,  so  that  Mother  hurriedly  put  me  down 
again,  and  my  horror  was  such  that  she  regretted  not  having 
prepared  me.     Later  on  she  occasionally  spoke  about  It. 

XII. 

Other  inimical  forces  m  the  world  cropped  up  by  de- 
grees. When  you  had  been  put  to  bed  early  the  maids  often 
sat  down  at  the  nursery  table,  and  talked  in  an  undertone 
until  far  on  into  the  evening.  And  then  they  would  tell  sto- 
ries that  were  enough  to  make  your  hair  stand  on  end.  They 
talked  of  ghosts  that  went  about  dressed  in  white,  quite  noise- 
lessly, or  rattling  their  chains  through  the  rooms  of  houses, 
appeared  to  people  lying  in  bed,  frightened  guilty  persons; 
of  figures  that  stepped  out  of  their  picture-frames  and  moved 
across  the  floor;  of  the  horror  of  spending  a  night  in  the  dark 
in  a  church — no  one  dared  do  that;  of  what  dreadful  places 
churchyards  were,  how  the  dead  In  long  grave-clothes  rose 
up  from  their  graves  at  night  and  frightened  the  life  out  of 
people,  while  the  Devil  himself  ran  about  the  churchyard  in 
the  shape  of  a  black  cat.  In  fact,  you  could  never  be  sure, 
when  you  saw  a  black  cat  towards  evening,  that  the  Devil 
was  not  inside  it.  And  as  easily  as  winking  the  Devil  could 
transform  himself  into  a  man  and  come  up  behind  the  person 
he  had  a  grudge  against. 

It  was  a  terrifying  excitement  to  lie  awake  and  listen  to 
all  this.  And  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Both  Maren  and 
Karoline  had  seen  things  of  the  sort  themselves  and  could 
produce  witnesses  by  the  score.  It  caused  a  revolution  in  my 
consciousness.  I  learnt  to  know  the  realm  of  Darkness  and 
the  Prince  of  Darkness.  For  a  time  I  hardly  ventured  to 
pass  through  a  dark  room.  I  dared  not  sit  at  my  book  with 
an  open  door  behind  me.  Who  might  not  step  noiselessly 
in!     And  if  there  were  a  mirror  on  the  wall  In  front  of  me  I 


DISCOVERING  THE   WORLD  19 

would  tremble  with  fear  lest  I  might  see  the  Devil,  standing 
with  gleaming  eyes  at  the  back  of  my  chair. 

When  at  length  the  impression  made  upon  me  by  all 
these  ghost  and  devil  stories  passed  away,  I  retained  a  strong 
repugnance  to  all  darkness  terror,  and  to  all  who  take  advan- 
tage of  the  defenceless  fear  of  the  ignorant  for  the  powers  of 
darkness. 

XIII. 

I'he  world  was  widening  out.  It  was  not  only  home 
and  the  houses  of  my  different  grandparents,  and  the  clan  of 
my  uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins;  it  grew  larger. 

I  realized  this  at  the  homecoming  of  the  troops.  They 
came  home  twice.  The  impression  they  produced  the  first 
time  v/as  certainly  a  great,  though  not  a  deep  one.  It  was 
purely  external,  and  indistinctly  merged  together:  garlands 
on  the  houses  and  across  the  streets,  the  dense  throng  of  peo- 
ple, the  flower-decked  soldiers,  marching  In  step  to  the  music 
under  a  constant  shower  of  flowers  from  every  window,  and 
looking  up  smiling.  The  second  time,  long  afterwards,  I 
took  things  in  in  much  greater  detail.  The  wounded,  who 
v/ent  in  front  and  were  greeted  with  a  sort  of  tenderness;  the 
officers  on  horseback,  saluting  with  their  swords,  on  which 
were  piled  wreath  over  wreath;  the  bearded  soldiers,  with 
tiny  wreaths  round  their  bayonets,  while  big  boys  carried 
their  rifles  for  them.  And  all  the  time  the  music  of  Den 
tapre  Landsoldat,  when  not  the  turn  of  Danmark  dejUgst  or 
Vift  stolt!^ 

But  the  second  time  I  was  not  wholly  absorbed  by  the 
sight,  for  I  was  tormented  by  remorse.  My  aunt  had  pre- 
sented me  the  day  before  with  three  little  wTeaths  to  throw 
at  the  soldiers;  the  one  I  was  to  keep  myself,  and  I  was  to 
give  each  of  my  two  small  brothers  one  of  the  others;  I  had 
promised  faithfully  to  do  so.  And  I  had  kept  them  all  three, 
intending  to  throw  them  all  myself.  I  knew  it  was  wrong 
and  deceitful;  I  was  suffering  for  It,  but  the  delight  of  throw- 
ing all  the  wreaths  myself  was  too  great.     I   flung  them 

'Three   favourite   Danish   tunes:    "The   Brave   Soldier,''    *  Fairest   Den- 
mark," and  *"  Proudly  Wave." 


20  REMINISCENCES 

down.  A  soldier  caught  one  on  his  bayonet;  the  others 
fell  to  the  ground.  I  was  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself, 
and  have  never  forgotten  my  shame. 

XIV. 

I  knew  that  the  theatre  (where  I  had  never  been)  was 
the  place  where  Mother  and  Father  enjoyed  themselves  most. 
They  often  talked  of  it,  and  were  most  delighted  if  the 
actors  had  "  acted  well,"  words  which  conveyed  no  meaning 
to  me. 

Children  were  not  at  that  time  debarred  from  the  Royal 
Theatre,  and  I  had  no  more  ardent  wish  than  to  get  inside. 
I  was  still  a  very  small  child  when  one  day  they  took  me  with 
them  in  the  carriage  in  which  Father  and  Mother  and  Aunt 
were  driving  to  the  theatre.  I  had  my  seat  with  the  others 
in  the  pit,  and  sat  speechless  with  admiration  when  the  curtain 
went  up.  The  play  was  called  Adventures  on  a  Walking 
Tour.  I  could  not  understand  anything.  Men  came  on 
the  stage  and  talked  together.  One  crept  forward  under 
a  bush  and  sang.  I  could  not  grasp  the  meaning  of 
it,  and  when  I  asked  I  was  only  told  to  be  quiet.  But  my 
emotion  was  so  great  that  I  began  to  feel  ill,  and  had  to  be 
carried  out.  Out  in  the  square  I  was  sick  and  had  to  be 
taken  home.  Unfortunately  for  me,  that  was  precisely  what 
happened  the  second  time,  when,  in  response  to  my  importu- 
nity, another  try  was  made.  My  excitement,  my  delight,  my 
attention  to  the  unintelligible  were  too  overwhelming.  I 
nearly  fainted,  and  at  the  close  of  the  first  act  had  to  leave  the 
theatre.  After  that,  ft  was  a  very  long  time  before  I  was 
regarded  as  old  enough  to  stand  the  excitement. 

Once,  though,  I  was  allowed  to  go  to  see  a  comedy. 
Mr.  Voltelen  gave  me  a  ticket  for  some  students'  theatricals 
at  the  Court  Theatre,  in  which  he  himself  was  going  to  ap- 
pear. The  piece  was  called  A  Spendthrift,  and  I  saw  it  with- 
out suffering  for  It.  There  was  a  young,  flighty  man  in  it 
who  used  to  throw  gold  coins  out  of  the  window,  and  there 
was  an  ugly  old  hag,  and  a  young,  beautiful  girl  as  well.  I 
sat  and  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  when  my  master  should 


DISCOVERING  THE   WORLD  21 

come  on,  but  1  was  disappointed;  there  was  no  Mr.  Voltclcn 
to  be  seen. 

Next  day,  when  I  thanked  him  for  the  entertainment,  I 
added:  "  But  you  made  game  of  me.  You  were  not  in  it 
at  all."  "  What?  I  was  not  in  it?  Did  you  not  see  the 
old  hag?  That  was  I.  Didn't  you  see  the  girl?  That  was 
I."  It  was  incomprehensible  to  me  that  anyone  could  dis- 
guise himself  so.  Mr.  Voltelen  must  most  certainly  have 
"  acted  well."  But  years  afterwards,  I  could  still  not  under- 
stand how  one  judged  of  this.  Since  plays  affected  me  ex- 
actly like  real  life,  I  was,  of  course,  not  in  a  position  to  single 
out  the  share  the  actors  took. 

XV. 

The  war  imbued  my  tin  soldiers  with  quite  a  new  inter- 
est. It  was  impossible  to  have  boxes  enough  of  them.  You 
could  set  them  out  in  companies  and  battalions;  they  opened 
their  ranks  to  attack,  stormed,  were  wounded,  and  fell. 
Sometimes  they  lay  down  fatigued  and  slept  on  the  field  of 
battle.  But  a  new  box  that  came  one  day  made  the  old  ones 
lose  all  value  for  me.  For  the  soldiers  in  the  new  box  were 
proper  soldiers,  with  chests  and  backs,  round  to  the  touch, 
heavy  to  hold.  In  comparison  with  them,  the  older  ones,  pro- 
file soldiers,  so  small  that  you  could  only  look  at  them  side- 
ways, sank  into  utter  insignificance.  A  step  had  been  taken 
from  the  abstract  to  the  concrete.  It  was  no  longer  any  pleas- 
ure to  me  to  play  with  the  smaller  soldiers.  I  said:  "  They 
amused  me  last  year,  when  I  was  little."  There  was  a  simi- 
lar change,  a  similar  picture  of  historic  progress,  when  the 
hobby-horse  on  which  I  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours,  and 
on  which  I  had  ridden  through  rooms  and  passages,  was  put 
in  the  corner  in  favour  of  the  new  rocking-horse  which,  long 
coveted  and  desired,  was  carried  in  through  the  door,  and 
stood  in  the  room,  rocking  slightly,  as  though  ready  for  the 
boldest  ride,  the  moment  its  rider  flung  himself  into  the 
saddle. 

I  mounted  it  and  oh,  happiness!  I  began  to  ride,  and 
rode  on  with  passionate  delight  till  I  nearly  went  over  the 


22  REMINISCENCES 

horse's  head.  "  When  I  was  a  little  boy  the  hobby-horse 
amused  me,  but  It  does  not  now."  Every  time  I  climbed  a 
fresh  rung  of  the  ladder,  no  matter  how  low  an  one,  the  same 
feeling  possessed  me,  and  the  same  train  of  thought.  Mother 
often  joked  about  it,  up  to  the  time  when  I  was  a  full  grown 
man.  If  I  quickly  outgrew  my  fancies,  if  I  had  quite  done 
with  anything  or  anybody  that  had  absorbed  me  a  little  while 
before,  she  would  say,  with  a  smile:  "  Last  year,  when  I 
was  a  little  boy,  the  hobby-horse  amused  me." 

•>  Still,  progress  was  not  always  smooth.  When  I  was 
small  I  had  pretty  blouses,  one  especially,  grey,  with  brown 
worsted  lace  upon  it,  that  I  was  fond  of  wearing;  now  I  had 
plain.  Hat  blouses  with  a  leather  belt  round  the  waist.  Later 
on,  I  was  ambitious  to  have  a  jacket,  like  big  boys,  and  when 
this  wish  had  been  gratified  there  awoke  in  me,  as  happens  in 
life,  a  more  lofty  ambition  still,  that  to  wear  a  frock  coat.  In 
the  fulness  of  time  an  old  frock  coat  of  my  father's  was  al- 
tered to  fit  me.  I  looked  thin  and  lank  in  it,  but  the  dress 
was  honourable.  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  everybody 
would  see  I  was  wearing  a  frock  coat  for  the  first  time, 
I  did  not  dare  to  go  out  into  .he  streets  with  it  on,  but  went 
out  of  my  way  round  the  ramparts  for  fear  of  meeting 
anyone. 

When  I  was  a  little  boy  I  did  not,  of  course,  trouble 
much  about  my  appearance.  I  did  not  remember  that  my 
portrait  had  been  drawn  several  times.  But  when  I  was 
nine  years  old,  Aunt  Sarah — at  that  time  everybody  was 
either  uncle  or  aunt — determined  that  we  brothers  should 
have  our  portraits  taken  in  daguerreotype  for  Father's  birth- 
day. The  event  made  a  profound  impression,  because  I  had 
to  stand  perfectly  still  while  the  picture  was  being  taken,  and 
because  the  daguerreotypist,  a  German,  whose  name  was 
Schatzig,  rolled  his  rs  and  hissed  his  5S.  The  whole  affair 
was  a  great  secret,  which  was  not  to  be  betrayed.  The  pres- 
ent was  to  be  a  surprise,  and  I  was  compelled  to  promise  per- 
fect silence.  I  kept  my  promise  for  one  day.  But  next  day, 
at  the  dinner-table,  I  accidentally  burst  out:  "Now!  quite 
shtill !  as  the  man  said."  "  What  man  ?  "  "  Ah !  that  was  the 
secret !  " 


DISCOVERING  THE   WORLD  23 

The  visit  to  Schiitzig  in  itself  I  had  reason  to  re- 
member a  long  time.  Some  one  or  another  had  said  that  I 
had  a  slender  neck,  and  that  it  was  pretty.  Just  as  we  were 
going  in,  my  aunt  said:  "  You  will  catch  cold  inside,"  and 
in  spite  of  my  protests  tied  a  little  silk  handkerchief  round  my 
neck.  That  handkerchief  spoilt  all  my  pleasure  in  being  im- 
mortalised. And  it  is  round  my  neck  on  the  old  picture  to 
this  day. 

XVI. 

The  tin  soldiers  had  called  all  my  warlike  instincts  into 
being.  After  the  rocking-horse,  more  and  more  military  ap- 
purtenances followed.  A  shining  helmet  to  buckle  firmly  un- 
der the  chin,  in  which  one  looked  quite  imposing;  a  cuirass  of 
real  metal  like  the  Horseguards',  and  a  short  rapier  in  a 
leather  scabbard,  which  went  by  the  foreign  name  of  Hirsch- 
fanger,  and  was  a  very  awe-inspiring  weapon  in  the  eyes  of 
one's  small  brothers,  when  they  were  mercilessly  massacred 
with  it.  Sitting  on  the  rocking-horse,  arrayed  in  all  this 
splendour,  wild  dreams  of  military  greatness  filled  the  soul, 
dreams  which  grew  wilder  and  more  ambitious  from  year  to 
year  until  between  the  age  of  8  and  9  they  received  a  fresh 
and  unwholesome  stimulus  from  Ingemann's  novels.^ 

On  horseback,  at  the  head  of  a  chosen  band,  fighting  like 
the  lost  against  unnumbered  odds !  Rock  goes  the  rocking- 
horse,  violently  up  and  down.  The  enemy  wavers,  he  begins 
to  give  way.  The  rocking-horse  is  pulled  up.  A  sign  with 
the  Hirschfanger  to  the  herd  of  common  troops.  The  enemy 
is  beaten  and  flies,  the  next  thing  is  to  pursue  him.  The 
rocking-horse  is  set  once  more  in  furious  motion.  Complete 
victory.  Procession  into  the  capital;  shouts  of  jubilation  and 
wreaths  of  flowers,  for  the  victor  and  his  men. 

XVII. 

Just  about  this  time,  when  in  imagination  I  was  so  great 
a  warrior,  I  had  good  use  in  real  life  for  more  strength,  as 

'  B.    S.    Ingemann    (1789-1862),    a    Danish    writer   celebrated    chiefly    as 
the  author  of  many  historical  novels,  now  only  r?ad  by  very  young  children. 


24  REMINISCENCES 

I  was  no  longer  taken  to  school  by  the  nurse,  but  Instead  had 
myself  to  protect  my  brother,  two  years  my  junior.  The 
start  from  home  was  pleasant  enough.  Lunch  boxes  of  tin 
with  the  Danish  greeting  after  meals  in  gold  letters  upon 
them,  stood  open  on  the  table.  Mother,  at  one  end  of  the 
table,  spread  each  child  six  pieces  of  bread  and  butter,  which 
were  then  placed  together,  two  and  two,  white  bread 
on  brown  bread,  a  mixture  which  was  uncommonly  nice. 
The  box  would  take  exactly  so  many.  Then  it  was  put 
in  the  school-bag  with  the  books.  And  with  bag  on  back 
you  went  to  school,  always  the  same  way.  But  those 
were  days  when  the  journey  was  much  impeded.  Every  min- 
ute you  met  boys  who  called  you  names  and  tried  to  hit  the 
little  one,  and  you  had  to  fight  at  every  street  corner  you 
turned.  And  those  were  days  when,  even  in  the  school  it- 
self, despite  the  humanity  of  the  age  (not  since  attained  to), 
terms  of  abuse,  buffets  and  choice  insults  were  one's  daily 
bread,  and  I  can  see  myself  now,  as  I  sprang  up  one  day  in  a 
fight  with  a  much  bigger  boy  and  bit  him  in  the  neck,  till  a 
master  was  obliged  to  get  me  away  from  him,  and  the  other 
had  to  have  his  neck  bathed  under  the  pump. 

I  admired  in  others  the  strength  that  I  lacked  myself. 
There  was  in  the  class  one  big,  stout,  squarely  built,  inexpress- 
ibly good-natured  boy,  for  whom  no  one  was  a  match  in  fight- 
ing. He  was  from  Lolland,  and  his  name  was  Ludvig;  he 
was  not  particularly  bright,  but  robust  and  as  strong  as  a 
giant.  Then  one  day  there  arrived  at  the  school  a  West  In- 
dian of  the  name  of  Muddie,  dark  of  hue,  with  curly  hair, 
as  strong  and  slim  as  a  savage,  and  with  all  the  finesse  and 
feints  which  he  had  at  his  command,  irresistible,  whether 
wrestling  or  when  fighting  with  his  fists.  He  beat  all  the 
strongest  boys  in  the  school.  Only  Ludvig  and  he  had  not 
challenged  each  other.  But  the  boys  were  very  anxious  to 
see  a  bout  between  the  two,  and  a  wrestling  match  between 
them  was  arranged  for  a  free  quarter  of  an  hour.  For  the 
boys,  who  were  all  judges,  it  was  a  fine  sight  to  see  two  such 
fighters  wrestle,  especially  when  the  LoUander  flung  himself 
down  on  the  other  and  the  West  Indian  struggled  vainly, 
writhing  like  a  very  snake  to  twist  himself  out  of  his  grasp. 


DISCOVERING   THE   WORLD  25 

One  day  two  new  boys  came  to  school,  two  brothers; 
the  elder,  Adam,  was  small  and  sallow,  extraordinarily  with- 
ered, looking  like  a  cripple,  without,  however,  being  one; 
the  somewhat  younger  brother,  Sofus,  was  splendidly  made 
and  amazed  us  in  the  very  first  lesson  in  which  the  new 
arrivals  took  part — a  gymnastic  class — by  his  unusual  agility 
in  swarming  and  walking  up  the  sloping  bar.  He  seemed  to 
be  as  strong  as  he  was  dexterous,  and  in  a  little  boy  with  a 
reverence  for  those  who  were  strong,  he  naturally  aroused 
positive  enthusiasm.  This  was  even  augmented  next  day, 
when  a  big,  malicious  boy,  who  had  scoffed  at  Adam  for  being 
puny,  was,  In  a  trice,  so  well  thrashed  by  Sofus  that  he  lost 
both  his  breath  and  his  courage. 

Sofus,  the  new  arrival,  and  I,  who  had  achieved  fighting 
exploits  from  the  rocking-horse  only,  were  henceforth,  for 
some  time,  Inseparable  friends.  It  was  one  of  the  usual 
friendships  between  little  boys,  in  which  the  one  admires  and 
the  other  allows  himself  to  be  worshipped.  The  admirer  in 
this  case  could  only  feed  his  feelings  by  presenting  the  other 
with  the  most  cherished  thing  he  possessed.  This  most  cher- 
ished thing  happened  to  be  some  figures  cut  out  in  gold 
paper,  from  France,  representing  every  possible  object  and 
personage,  from  ships  with  masts  and  sails,  to  knights  and 
ladles.  I  had  collected  them  for  a  long  time  and  preserved 
them,  piece  by  piece,  by  gumming  them  into  a  book  which 
was  the  pride  of  my  existence.  I  gave  the  book,  without  the 
slightest  hesitation,  to  Sofus,  who  accepted  it  without  caring 
for  it  in  the  least. 

And  then  by  reason  of  the  exaggerated  admiration  of 
which  he  was  the  object,  Sofus,  who  hitherto  had  been  so 
straightforward,  began  to  grow  capricious.  It  was  a  settled 
rule  that  he  and  I  went  home  from  school  together.  But  one 
day  a  difficulty  cropped  up;  Sofus  had  promised  Valdemar, 
a  horrid  boy,  who  cheated  at  lessons,  to  go  home  with  him. 
And  next  day  something  else  prevented  him.  But  when, 
suddenly  having  learnt  to  know  all  the  pangs  of  neglect 
and  despised  affection,  I  met  him  the  third  day,  after  having 
waited  vainly  for  him,  crossing  Our  Lady's  Square  with  Val- 
demar, in  my  anger  I  seized  my  quondam  friend  roughly  by 


26  REMINISCENCES 

the  arm,  my  face  distorted  with  rage,  and  burst  out:  "  You 
are  a  rascal !  "  then  rushed  off,  and  never  addressed  him 
again.  It  was  a  very  ill-advised  thing  to  do,  in  fact,  the 
very  most  foolish  thing  I  could  have  done.  But  I  was  too 
passionate  to  behave  sensibly.  Valdemar  spread  the  account 
of  my  conduct  all  through  the  class,  and  next  day,  in  our 
quarter  of  an  hour's  playtime,  I  heard  on  every  side  from  the 
laughing  boys:  "  You  are  a  rascal!     You  are  a  rascal!  " 

XVIII. 

The  world  was  widening  out.  The  instruction  I  re- 
ceived grew  more  varied.  There  were  a  great  many  lessons 
out  of  school.  From  my  drawing  mistress,  a  pleasant  girl, 
who  could  draw  Fingal  in  a  helmet  in  charcoal,  I  learnt  to  see 
how  things  looked  in  comparison  with  one  another,  how  they 
hid  one  another  and  revealed  themselves,  in  perspective;  from 
my  music  mistress,  my  kind  aunt,  to  recognise  the  notes  and 
keys,  and  to  play,  first  short  pieces,  then  sonatas,  alone, 
then  as  duets.  But  alas!  Neither  in  the  arts  of  sight  nor 
hearing  did  I  ever  prove  myself  more  than  mediocre.  I 
never  attained,  either  in  drawing  or  piano-playing,  to  more 
than  a  soulless  accuracy.  And  I  hardly  showed  much  greater 
aptitude  when,  on  bright  Sunday  mornings,  which  invited  not 
at  all  to  the  delights  of  dancing,  with  many  another  tiny  lad 
and  lass  I  was  marshalled  up  to  dance  in  the  dancing  saloon 
of  Mr.  Hoppe,  the  royal  dancer,  and  learnt  to  take  up  the 
first  to  the  fifth  positions  and  swing  the  girls  round  in  the 
polka  ma/urka.  I  became  an  ardent,  but  never  a  specially 
good,  dancer. 

XIX. 

The  world  was  widening  out.  Father  brought  from 
Paris  a  marvellous  game,  called  Fortuna,  with  bells  over 
pockets  in  the  wood,  and  balls  which  were  pushed  with  cues. 
Father  had  travelled  from  Paris  with  it  five  days  and  six 
nights.  It  was  inexpressibly  fascinating;  no  one  else  in  Co- 
penhagen had  a  game  like  it.  And  next  year,  when  Father 
came  home  from  Paris  again,  he  brought  a  large,  flat,  pol- 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  27 

ished  box,  in  which  there  were  a  dozen  different  games, 
French  games  with  balls,  and  battledores  and  shuttlecocks, 
games  which  grown-up  people  liked  playing,  too;  and  there 
were  carriages  which  went  round  and  round  by  clockwork, 
and  a  tumbler  who  turned  somersaults  backwards  down  a 
flight  of  steps  as  soon  as  he  was  placed  on  the  top  step.  Those 
were  things  that  the  people  in  France  could  do. 

The  world  was  widening  out  more  and  more.  Relations 
often  came  over  from  Goteborg.  They  spoke  Swedish,  but 
if  you  paid  great  attention  you  could  understand  quite  well 
what  they  said.  They  spoke  the  language  of  Frithiof's  Saga, 
but  pronounced  it  differently  from  Mr.  Voltelen.  And  there 
came  a  young  French  count  whose  relations  my  father's 
brother  had  known;  he  had  come  as  a  sailor  on  a  French 
man-o'-war,  and  he  came  and  stayed  to  dinner  and  sang  the 
Marseillaise.  It  was  from  him  that  I  heard  the  song  for 
the  first  time.  He  was  only  fifteen,  and  very  good-looking, 
and  dressed  like  an  ordinary  sailor,  although  he  was  a  count. 

And  then  there  were  my  two  uncles.  Uncle  Jacob  and 
Uncle  Julius — my  mother's  brother  Jacob  and  my  father's 
brother  Julius,  who  had  both  become  Frenchmen  long  ago 
and  lived  in  Paris.  Uncle  Jacob  often  came  for  a  few  weeks 
or  more  at  a  time.  He  was  small  and  broad-shouldered  and 
good-looking.  Everybody  was  fond  of  Uncle  Jacob;  all  the 
ladies  wanted  to  be  asked  to  the  house  when  Uncle  Jacob 
came.  He  had  a  wife  and  four  children  in  Paris.  But  I  had 
pieced  together  from  the  conversation  of  the  grown-up  people 
that  Aunt  Victorine  was  his  wife  and  yet  not  his  wife. 
Grandmother  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  And  Uncle 
Jacob  had  gone  all  the  way  to  the  Pope  in  Rome  and  asked 
for  her  to  remain  his  wife.  But  the  Pope  had  said  No. 
Why?  Because  Aunt  Victorine  had  had  another  husband 
before,  who  had  been  cruel  to  her  and  beaten  her,  and  the 
man  came  sometimes,  when  Uncle  was  away,  and  took  her  fur- 
niture away  from  her.  It  was  incomprehensible  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to,  and  that  the  Pope  would  do  nothing  to 
prevent  it,  for  after  all  she  w'as  a  Catholic. 

Uncle  Jacob  had  a  peculiar  expression  about  his  mouth 
when  he  smiled.     There  was  a  certain  charm  about  every- 


28  REMINISCENCES 

thing  he  said  and  did,  but  his  smile  was  sad.  He  had  acted 
thoughtlessly,  they  said,  and  was  not  happy.  One  morn- 
ing, while  he  was  visiting  Father  and  Mother  and  was  lying 
asleep  in  the  big  room,  there  was  a  great  commotion  in  the 
house;  a  messenger  was  sent  for  the  doctor  and  the  word 
morphia  was  spoken.  He  was  ill,  but  was  very  soon  well 
again.  When  he  asked  his  sister  next  day :  "  What  has  be- 
come of  my  case  of  pistols?  "  she  replied  with  a  grave  face: 
•'  I  have  taken  it  and  I  shall  keep  it." 

I  had  not  thought  as  a  boy  that  I  should  ever  see  Uncle 
Jacob's  wife  and  children.  And  yet  it  so  happened  that  I 
did.  Many  years  aftenvards,  when  I  was  a  young  man  and 
went  to  Paris,  after  my  uncle's  death,  I  sought  out  Victorine 
and  her  children.  I  wished  to  bring  her  personally  the 
monthly  allowance  that  her  relatives  used  to  send  her  from 
Denmark.  I  found  her  prematurely  old,  humbled  by  pov- 
erty, worn  out  by  privation.  How  was  it  possible  that  she 
should  be  so  badly  off?  Did  she  not  receive  the  help  that 
was  sent  from  Copenhagen  every  month  to  uncle's  best  friend, 
M.  Fontane,  in  the  Rue  Vivienne?  Alas,  no!  M.  Fontane 
gave  her  a  little  assistance  once  in  a  while,  and  at  other  times 
sent  her  and  her  children  away  with  hard  words. 

It  turned  out  that  M.  Fontane  had  swindled  her,  and 
had  himself  kept  the  money  that  had  been  sent  for  years  to 
the  widow  of  his  best  friend.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome  man, 
with  a  large  business.  No  one  would  have  believed  that  a 
scoundrel  could  have  looked  as  he  did.  He  was  eventually 
compelled  to  make  the  money  good.  And  when  the  cousin 
from  Denmark  rang  after  that  at  his  French  relatives'  door, 
he  was  immediately  hung  round,  like  a  Christmas  tree,  with 
little  boys  and  one  small  girl,  who  jumped  up  and  wound 
their  arms  round  his  neck,  and  would  not  let  him  go. 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS 

Our  House — Its  Inmates — My  Paternal  Grandfather — My  Maternal  Grand- 
father— School  and  Home — Farum — My  Instructors — A  Foretaste  of  Life 
— Contempt  for  the  Masters — My  Mother — The  Mystery  of  Life — My 
First  Glimpse  of  Beauty — The  Head  Master — Religion — My  Standing  in 
School — Self-esteem — An  Instinct  for  Literature — Private  Reading — 
Heine's  Bitch  der  Lieder — A  Broken  Friendship. 


I. 

THE  house  belonged  to  my  father's  father,  and  had 
been  in  his  possession  some  twenty  years.  My 
parents  lived  on  the  second  floor.  It  was  situated 
In  the  busy  part  of  the  town,  right  in  the  heart  of  Copen- 
hagen. On  the  first  floor  lived  a  West  Indian  gentleman 
who  spoke  Danish  with  a  foreign  accent;  sometimes  there 
came  to  see  him  a  Danish  man  of  French  descent,  Mr.  La- 
fontaine,  who,  It  was  said,  was  so  strong  that  he  could  take 
two  rifles  and  bayonets  and  hold  them  out  horizontally  with- 
out bending  his  arm.  I  never  saw  Mr.  Lafontaine,  much 
less  his  marvellous  feat  of  strength,  but  when  I  went  down 
the  stairs  I  used  to  stare  hard  at  the  door  behind  which  these 
wonderful  doings  went  on. 

In  the  basement  lived  Niels,  manservant  to  the  family, 
who,  besides  his  domestic  occupations,  found  time  to  develop 
a  talent  for  business.  In  all  secrecy  he  carried  on  a  com- 
merce, very  considerable  under  the  circumstances,  In  common 
watches  and  in  mead,  two  kinds  of  wares  that  in  sooth  had  no 
connection  with  each  other.  The  watches  had  no  particular 
attraction  for  a  little  boy,  but  the  mead,  which  was  kept  in 
jars,  on  a  shelf,  appealed  to  me  doubly.  It  was  the  bever- 
age the  old  Northmen  had  loved  so  much  that  the  dead 
drank  It  In  Valhalla.  It  was  astonishing  that  It  could  still 
be  had.     How  nice  It  must  be !     I  was  allowed  to  taste  it  and 

29 


30  REMINISCENCES 

it  surpassed  all  my  expectations.  Sweeter  than  sugar!  More 
delicious  than  anything  else  on  earth  that  1  had  tasted!  But 
if  you  drank  more  than  a  very  small  glass  of  it,  you  felt  sick. 
And  I  profoundly  admired  the  dead  warriors  for  having 
been  able  to  toss  off  mead  from  large  drinking-horns  and  eat 
fat  pork  with  it.  What  a  choice!  And  they  never  had 
stomach-ache ! 

II. 

On  the  ground  floor  was  the  shop,  which  occupied  the 
entire  breadth  and  nearly  the  entire  depth  of  the  house,  a 
silk  and  cloth  business,  large,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
time,  which  was  managed  by  my  father  and  grandfather  to- 
gether until  my  eleventh  year,  when  Father  began  to  deal 
wholesale  on  his  own  account.  It  was  nice  in  the  shop,  be- 
cause when  you  went  down  the  assistants  would  take  you 
round  the  waist  and  lift  you  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
semi-circular  counter  which  divided  them  from  the  customers. 
The  assistants  were  pleasant,  dignified  gentlemen,  of  fine  ap- 
pearance and  behaviour,  friendly  without  wounding  conde- 
scension. 

Between  my  fifth  and  sixth  years  some  alterations  were 
done  at  the  shop,  which  was  consequently  closed  to  me  for  a 
long  time.  When  it  was  once  more  accessible  I  stood  amazed 
at  the  change.  A  long,  glass-covered  gallery  had  been 
added,  in  which  the  wares  lay  stored  on  new  shelves.  The 
extension  of  the  premises  was  by  no  means  inconsiderable,  and 
simultaneously  an  extension  had  been  made  in  the  staff. 
Among  the  new  arrivals  was  an  apprentice  named  Gerhard, 
who  was  as  tall  as  a  grown  man,  but  must  have  been  very 
young,  for  he  talked  to  me,  a  six-year-old  child,  like  a  com- 
panion. He  was  very  nice-looking,  and  knew  it.  "  You 
don't  want  harness  when  you  have  good  hips,"  he  would  say, 
pointing  to  his  mightily  projecting  loins.  This  remark  made 
a  great  impression  upon  me,  because  it  was  the  first  time  I  had 
heard  anyone  praise  his  own  appearance.  I  knew  that  one 
ought  not  to  praise  one's  self  and  that  self-praise  was  no  rec- 
ommendation. So  I  was  astonished  to  find  that  self-praise 
in  Gerhard's  mouth  was  not  objectionable;  In  fact,  It  actually 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  31 

suited  him.  Gerhard  often  talked  of  what  a  pleasure  it  was 
to  go  out  in  the  evenings  and  enjoy  one's  self — what  the  devil 
did  it  matter  what  old  people  said? — and  listen  to  women 
singing — amusements  which  his  hearer  could  not  manage  to 
picture  very  clearly  to  himself. 

It  soon  began  to  be  said  that  Gerhard  was  not  turning 
out  well.  The  manner  in  which  he  procured  the  money 
for  his  pleasures  resulted,  as  I  learnt  long  afterwards,  In  his 
sudden  dismissal.  But  he  had  made  some  slight  impression 
on  my  boyish  fancy — given  me  a  vague  idea  of  a  heedless  life 
of  enjoyment,  and  of  youthful  defiance. 

III. 

On  the  landing  which  led  from  the  shop  to  the  stock- 
room behind,  my  grandfather  took  up  his  position.  He 
looked  very  handsome  up  there,  with  his  curly  white  hair. 
Thence,  like  a  general,  he  looked  down  on  every'thing — on  the 
customers,  the  assistants,  the  apprentices,  both  before  and  be- 
hind him.  If  some  specially  esteemed  lady  customer  came 
Into  the  shop,  he  hurriedly  left  his  exalted  position  to  give 
advice.  If  the  shopman's  explanations  failed  to  satisfy  her, 
he  put  things  right.  He  was  at  the  zenith  of  his  strength, 
vigour,  and  apparently  of  his  glory. 

The  glory  vanished,  because  from  the  start  he  had 
worked  his  way  up  without  capital.  The  Hamburg  firm  that 
financed  the  business  lent  money  at  too  high  a  rate  of  interest 
and  on  too  hard  conditions  for  It  to  continue  to  support  two 
families. 

But  when  later  on  my  grandfather  had  his  time  at  his 
own  disposal,  he  took  up  the  Intellectual  Interests  which  in  his 
working  years  he  had  had  to  repress.  In  his  old  age,  for  in- 
stance, he  taught  himself  Italian,  and  his  visitors  would  find 
him,  with  Tasso's  Gerusalemme  libera tn  In  front  of  him,  look- 
ing out  In  a  dictionary  every  word  that  presented  any  difli- 
culty  to  him,  and  of  such  there  were  many. 

The  old  man  was  an  ardent  Buonapartlst,  and,  strangely 
enough,  an  even  more  ardent  admirer  of  the  Third  Napoleon 
than  of  the  First,  because  he  regarded  him  as  shrewder,  and 


32  REMINISCENCES 

was  convinced  that  he  would  bequeath  the  Empire  to  his  son. 
But  he  and  I  came  into  collision  on  this  point  from  the  time  I 
was  fourteen  years  of  age.  For  I  was  of  course  a  Republican, 
and  detested  Napoleon  III.  for  his  breach  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, and  used  to  write  secretly  in  impossible  French,  and  in  a 
still  more  impossible  metre  (which  was  intended  to  represent 
hexameters  and  pentameters)  verses  against  the  tyrant.  An 
ode  to  the  French  language  began : 

"Ah!    quelle    langue    magnifique,    si    belle,    si    riche,    si    sonore, 
Langue  qu'un  despote  cruel  met  aux  liens  et  aux  fers!" 

On  the  subject  of  Napoleon  III.  grandfather  and  grandson 
could  not  possibly  agree.  But  this  was  the  only  subject  on 
which  we  ever  had  any  dispute. 

IV. 

My  maternal  grandfather  was  quite  different,  entirely 
devoid  of  impetuosity,  even-tempered,  amiable,  very  hand- 
some. He  too  had  worked  his  way  up  from  straightened  cir- 
cumstances; in  fact,  it  was  only  when  he  was  getting  on  for 
twenty  that  he  had  taught  himself  to  read  and  write,  well- 
informed  though  he  was  at  the  time  I  write  of.  He  had 
once  been  apprentice  to  the  widow  of  Moller  the  dyer,  when 
Oehlenschlager  and  the  CErsteds  used  to  dine  at  the  house. 
After  the  patriarchal  fashion  of  the  day,  he  had  sat  daily  at 
the  same  table  as  these  great,  much-admired  men,  and  he 
often  told  how  he  had  clapped  his  hands  till  they  almost  bled 
at  Oehlenschlager's  plays,  in  the  years  when,  by  reason  of 
Baggesen's  attack,  opinions  about  them  at  the  theatre  were 
divided. 

My  great-grandfather,  the  father  of  my  mother's  step- 
mother, who  wore  high  boots  with  a  little  tassel  in  front,  be- 
longed to  an  even  older  generation.  He  used  to  say:  *'  If 
I  could  only  live  to  see  a  Danish  man-o'-war  close  with  an. 
English  ship  and  sink  it,  I  should  be  happy;  the  English  are 
the  most  disgraceful  pack  of  robbers  in  the  world."  He  was 
so  old  that  he  had  still  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  battle  in  the 
roadstead  and  of  the  bombardment  of  Copenhagen, 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  33 

V. 

School  and  Home  were  two  different  worlds,  and  it  often 
struck  me  that  I  led  a  double  life.  Six  hours  a  day  I  lived 
under  school  discipline  in  active  intercourse  with  people  none 
of  whom  were  known  to  those  at  home,  and  the  other  hours  of 
the  twenty-four  I  spent  at  home,  or  with  relatives  of  the  peo- 
ple at  home,  none  of  whom  were  known  to  anybody  at  school. 

On  Oct.  ist,  1849,  I  was  taken  to  school,  led  in  through 
the  sober-looking  doorway,  and  up  into  a  classroom,  where  I 
was  received  by  a  kindly  man,  the  arithmetic  master,  who 
made  me  feel  at  my  ease.  I  noticed  at  once  that  when  the 
master  asked  a  boy  anything  which  another  knew,  this  other 
had  a  right  to  publish  his  knowledge  by  holding  up  a  finger — 
a  right  of  which  I  myself  made  an  excessive  use  in  the  first 
lessons,  until  I  perceived  the  sense  of  not  trying,  in  season  and 
out  of  season,  to  attract  attention  to  my  knowledge  or  superi- 
ority, and  kept  my  hands  on  the  table  in  front  of  me. 

VI. 

Suddenly,  with  surprising  vividness,  a  little  incident  of 
my  childhood  rises  up  before  me.  I  was  ten  years  old.  I 
had  been  ill  in  the  Winter  and  my  parents  had  boarded  me 
out  in  the  country  for  the  Summer  holidays;  all  the  love  of 
adventure  in  me  surged  up.  At  the  Straw  Market  a  fat, 
greasy,  grinning  peasant  promised  to  take  me  in  his  cart  as 
far  as  the  little  town  of  Farum,  where  I  was  to  stay  with  the 
schoolmaster.  He  charged  two  dalers,  and  got  them.  Any 
sum,  of  course,  was  the  same  to  me.  I  was  allowed  to  drive 
the  brown  horses,  that  is  to  say,  to  hold  the  reins,  and  I  was 
in  high  glee.  Where  Farum  was,  I  did  not  know  and  did  not 
care,  but  it  was  a  new  world.  Until  now  I,  who  was  a  town 
child,  had  seen  nothing  of  the  country  except  my  nurse's 
house  and  land  at  Glostrup, — but  what  lay  in  front  of  me 
was  a  village,  a  schoolhouse,  a  large  farm,  in  short  an  ad- 
venture in  grand  style. 

I  had  my  shirts  and  blouses  and  stockings  in  a  port- 
manteau, and  amongst  them  a  magnificent  garment,  never 


34  REMINISCENCES 

yet  worn,  a  blue  cloth  jacket,  and  a  white  waistcoat  belong- 
ing to  it,  with  gold  buttons,  which  my  mother  had  given  me 
permission  to  wear  on  Sundays.  For  days,  I  always  wore 
blouses,  so  the  jacket  implied  a  great  step  forward.  I  was 
eager  to  wear  it,  and  regretted  profoundly  that  it  was  still 
only  Monday. 

Half-way  there,  the  peasant  pulled  up.  He  explained 
to  me  that  he  could  not  very  well  drive  me  any  farther,  so 
must  put  me  down ;  he  was  not  going  to  Farum  himself  at  all. 
But  a  peat  cart  was  coming  along  the  road  yonder,  the  driver 
of  which  was  going  to  Farum,  and  he  transferred  me,  poor 
defenceless  child  as  I  was,  to  the  other  conveyance.  He  had 
had  my  money;  I  had  nothing  to  give  the  second  man,  and 
sadly  I  exchanged  the  quick  trot  of  the  brown  horses  for  the 
walking  pace  of  the  jades  in  the  peat-cart. 

My  first  experience  of  man's  perfidy. 

At  last  I  was  there.  On  a  high,  wide  hill — high  and 
wide  as  it  seemed  to  me  then — towered  the  huge  schoolhouse, 
a  miniature  Christiansborg  Castle,  with  the  schoolmaster's 
apartments  on  the  right  and  the  schoolroom  on  the  left.  And 
the  schoolmaster  came  out  smiling,  holding  a  pipe  which 
was  a  good  deal  taller  than  I,  held  out  his  hand,  and 
asked  me  to  come  in,  gave  me  coffee  at  once,  and  expressed 
the  profoundest  contempt  for  the  peasant  who  had  charged 
two  rigsdaler  for  such  a  trifle,  and  then  left  me  in  the  road, 

I  asked  at  once  for  pen  and  paper,  and  wrote  in  cipher 
to  a  comrade,  with  whom  I  had  concocted  this  mysterious 
means  of  communication,  asking  him  to  tell  my  parents  that 
I  had  been  most  kindly  received.  I  felt  a  kind  of  shyness  at 
the  schoolmaster  seeing  what  I  wrote  home  from  his  house.  I 
gave  him  the  sheet,  and  begged  him  to  fold  it  up,  as  I  could 
not  do  it  myself.  There  were  no  envelopes  in  those  days. 
But  what  was  my  surprise  to  hear  him,  without  further  ado, 
read  aloud  with  a  smile,  from  my  manufactured  cipher:  *'  I 
have  been  most  kindly  received,"  etc.  I  had  never  thought 
such  keen-wittedness  possible.  And  my  respect  for  him  and 
his  long  pipe  rose. 

Just  then  there  was  a  light  knock  at  the  door.  In 
walked  two  girls,  one  tall  and  one  short,  the  former  of  whom 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  35 

positively  bewildered  me.  She  was  fair,  her  sister  as  dark 
as  a  negro.  They  were  ten  and  eight  years  old  respectively, 
were  named  Henrietta  and  Nina  K.,  came  from  Brazil, 
where  their  home  was,  and  were  to  spend  a  few  years  in 
Denmark;  came  as  a  rule  every  day,  but  had  now  arrived 
specially  to  inspect  the  strange  boy.  After  gazing  for  two 
minutes  at  the  lovely  Henrietta's  fair  hair  and  wonderful  grey 
eyes,  I  disappeared  from  the  room,  and  five  minutes  after- 
wards reappeared  again,  clothed  in  the  dark-blue  jacket  and 
the  white  waistcoat  with  gold  buttons,  which  I  had  been 
strictly  forbidden  to  wear  except  on  Sundays.  And  from  that 
time  forth,  sinner  that  I  was,  I  wore  my  Sunday  clothes  every 
blessed  day, — but  with  what  qualms  of  conscience! 

I  can  still  see  lovely  fields,  rich  in  corn,  along  the  sides 
of  which  we  played;  we  chased  beautiful,  gaudy  butterflies, 
which  we  caught  in  our  hats  and  cruelly  stuck  on  pins,  and 
the  little  girls  threw  oats  at  my  new  clothes,  and  if  the  oats 
stuck  fast  it  meant  something,  sweethearts,  I  believe.  Sweet- 
hearts— and  I ! 

Then  we  were  invited  to  the  manor,  a  big,  stately  house, 
a  veritable  castle.  There  lived  an  old,  and  exceedingly  hand- 
some, white-haired  Chamberlain,  called  the  General,  who 
frequently  dined  with  Frederik  VII.,  and  invariably  brought 
us  children  goodies  from  dessert,  lovely  large  pieces  of  bar- 
ley sugar  in  papers  with  gay  pictures  on  the  outside  of 
shepherd  lovers,  and  crackers  with  long  paper  fringes.  His 
youngest  son,  who  owned  a  collection  of  insects  and  many 
other  fine  things,  became  my  sworn  friend,  which  means  that 
I  was  his,  for  he  did  not  care  in  the  least  about  me;  but  I 
did  not  notice  that,  and  I  was  happy  and  proud  of  his  friend- 
ship and  sailed  with  him  and  lots  of  other  boys  and  girls  on 
the  pretty  Farum  lake,  and  every  day  was  more  convinced 
that  I  was  quite  a  man.  It  was  a  century  since  I  had  worn 
blouses. 

Every  morning  I  took  all  the  newspapers  to  Dr.  Dorr, 
the  German  tutor  at  the  castle,  and  every  morning  I  acci- 
dentally met  Henrietta,  and  after  that  we  were  hardly  sepa- 
rated all  day.  I  had  no  name  for  the  admiration  that  at- 
tached me  to  her.     I  knew  she  was  lovely,  that  was  all.    We 


36  REMINISCENCES 

were  anxious  to  read  something  together,  and  so  read  the 
whole  of  a  translation  of  Don  Quixote,  sitting  cheek  against 
cheek  in  the  summer-house.  Of  course,  we  did  not  under- 
stand one-half  of  it,  and  I  remember  that  we  tried  in  vain 
to  get  an  explanation  of  the  frequently  recurring  word 
"  doxy  ";  but  we  laughed  till  we  cried  at  what  we  did  under- 
stand. And  after  all,  it  is  this  first  reading  of  Doti  Quix- 
ote which  has  dominated  all  my  subsequent  attempts  to  un- 
derstand the  book. 

But  Henrietta   had  ways  that  I   did  not  understand 
in   the   least;   she   used   to   amuse   herself   by   little   machi- 
nations,  was   inventive  and   intriguing.     One   day   she   de- 
manded that  I  should  play  the  school  children,  small,  white- 
haired  boys  and  girls,  all  of  whom  we  had  long  learnt  to 
know,  a  downright  trick.   I  was  to  write  a  real  love-letter  to  a 
nine-year-old  little  girl  named  Ingeborg,  from  an  eleven  or 
twelve-year-old  boy  called  Per,  and  then  Henrietta  would 
sew  a  fragrant  little  wreath  of  flowers  round  it.     The  let- 
ter was  completed  and  delivered.     But  the  only  result  of  it 
was  that  next  day,  as  I  was  walking  along  the  high  road 
with  Henrietta,  Per  separated  himself  from  his  companions, 
called  me  a  dandy  from  Copenhagen,  and  asked  me  if  I 
would  fight.     There  was,  of  course,  no  question  of  drawing 
back,  but  I  remember  very  plainly  that  I  was  a  little  aghast, 
for  he  was  much  taller  and  broader  than  I,  and  I  had,  into 
the  bargain,  a  very  bad  cause  to  defend.     But  we  had  hardly 
exchanged  the  first  tentative  blows  before  I  felt  overwhelm- 
ingly superior.     The  poor  cub!     He  had  not  the  slightest 
notion  how  to  fight.     From  my  everyday  school  life  in  Co- 
penhagen, I  knew  hundreds  of  tricks  and  feints  that  he  had 
never  learnt,  and  as  soon  as  I  perceived  this  I  flung  him  into 
the  ditch  like  a  glove.     He  sprang  up  again,  but,  with  lofty 
indifference,  I  threw  him  a  second  time,  till  his  head  buzzed. 
That  satisfied  me  that  I  had  not  been  shamed  before  Hen- 
rietta, who,  for  that  matter,  took  my  exploit  very  coolly  and 
did  not  fling  me  so  much  as  a  word  for  it.     However,  she 
asked  me  if  I  would  meet  her  the  same  evening  under  the  old 
May-tree.     When  we  met,  she  had  two  long  straps  with 
her,  and  at  once  asked  me,  somewhat  mockingly  and  dryly, 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  37 

whether  I  had  the  courage  to  let  myself  be  bound.  Of 
course  I  said  I  had,  whereupon,  very  carefully  and  thor- 
oughly, she  fastened  my  hands  together  with  the  one  strap. 
Could  I  move  my  arms?  No.  Then,  with  eager  haste,  she 
swung  the  other  strap  and  let  It  fall  on  my  back.  Again  and 
again. 

My  first  smart  jacket  was  a  well-thrashed  one.  She 
thoroughly  enjoyed  exerting  her  strength.  Naturally,  my 
boyish  ideas  of  honour  would  not  permit  me  to  scream 
or  complain;  I  merely  stared  at  her  with  the  profoundest 
astonishment.  She  gave  me  no  explanation,  released  my 
hands,  we  each  went  our  own  way,  and  I  avoided  her  the 
rest  of  my  stay. 

This  was  my  first  experience  of  woman's  perfidy. 

Still,  I  did  not  bear  a  grudge  long,  and  the  evening  be- 
fore I  left  we  met  once  again,  at  her  request,  and  then  she 
gave  me  the  first  and  only  kiss,  neither  of  us  saying  anything 
but  the  one  word,  "  Good-bye." 

I  have  never  seen  her  since.  I  heard  that  she  died  twenty 
years  ago  in  Brazil.  But  two  years  after  this,  when  I  was 
feeling  my  first  schoolboy  affection  for  an  eleven-year-old  girl, 
she  silenced  me  at  a  children's  ball  with  the  scoffing  remark: 
"  Ah !  it  was  you  who  let  Henrietta  K.  thrash  you  under  the 
May-tree  at  Farum."  Yes,  it  was  I.  So  cruel  had  my  fair 
lady  been  that  she  had  not  even  denied  herself  the  pleasure 
of  telling  her  friends  of  the  ignominious  treatment  to  which 
she  had  subjected  a  comrade  who,  from  pure  feeling  of 
honour,  had  not  struck  back. 

This  was  my  first  real  experience  of  feminine  nature. 

VII. 

For  nearly  ten  years  I  went  to  one  and  the  same  school. 
I  came  to  know  the  way  there  and  back,  to  and  from  the  three 
different  places,  all  near  together,  where  my  parents  lived 
during  the  time,  as  I  knew  no  other.  In  that  part  of  the 
town,  all  about  the  Round  Tower,  I  knew,  not  only  every 
house,  but  every  archway,  every  door,  every  window,  every 
paving-stone.    It  all  gradually  imprinted  itself  so  deeply  upon 


38  REMINISCENCES 

me  that  in  after  years,  when  gazing  on  foreign  sights  and 
foreign  towns,  even  after  I  had  been  living  for  a  long  time 
in  the  same  place,  I  had  a  curious  feeling  that,  however  beau- 
tiful and  fascinating  it  all  might  be,  or  perhaps  for  that  very 
reason,  it  was  dreamland,  unreality,  which  would  one  day 
elude  me  and  vanish;  reality  was  the  Round  Tower  in  Copen- 
hagen and  all  that  lay  about  it.  It  was  ugly,  and  altogether 
unattractive,  but  it  was  reality.  That  you  always  found 
again. 

Similarly,  though  in  a  somewhat  different  sense,  the  wood- 
ed landscape  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Copenhagen,  to  be 
exact,  the  view  over  the  Hermitage  Meadows  down  to  the 
Sound,  as  it  appears  from  the  bench  opposite  the  Slesvig 
Stone,  the  first  and  dearest  type  of  landscape  beauty  with 
which  I  became  acquainted,  was  endowed  to  me  with  an  im- 
print of  actuality  which  no  other  landscape  since,  be  it  never 
so  lovely  or  never  so  imposing,  has  e\^er  been  able  to  acquire. 

VIII. 

The  instruction  at  school  was  out  of  date,  inasmuch  as, 
in  every  branch,  it  lacked  intelligibility.  The  masters  were 
also  necessarily,  in  some  instances,  anything  but  perfect,  even 
when  not  lacking  in  knowledge  of  their  subject.  Neverthe- 
less, the  instruction  as  a  whole,  especially  when  one  bears  in 
mind  how  cheap  it  was,  must  be  termed  good,  careful  and 
comprehensive ;  as  a  rule  it  was  given  conscientiously.  When 
as  a  grown  up  man  I  have  cast  my  thoughts  back,  what  has 
surprised  me  most  is  the  variety  of  subjects  that  were  in- 
stilled into  a  boy  in  ten  years.  There  certainly  were  teachers 
so  lacking  in  understanding  of  the  proper  way  to  communi- 
cate knowledge  that  the  instruction  they  gave  was  altogether 
wasted.  For  instance,  I  learnt  geometry  for  four  or  five 
years  without  grasping  the  simplest  elements  of  the  science. 
The  principles  of  it  remained  so  foreign  to  me  that  I  did  not 
even  recognise  a  right-angled  triangle,  if  the  right  angle  were 
uppermost.  It  so  happened  that  the  year  before  I  had  to 
sit  for  my  examinations,  a  young  University  student  in  his 
first  year,  who  had  been  only  one  class  in  front  of  the  rest  of 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  39 

us,  offered  us  afternoon  instruction  in  trigonometry  and  spher- 
ical geometry  gratis,  and  all  who  appreciated  the  help  that 
was  being  offered  to  them  streamed  to  his  lessons.  This  young 
student,  later  Pastor  Jorgen  Lund,  had  a  remarkable  gift  for 
mathematics,  and  gave  his' instruction  with  a  lucidity,  a  fire, 
and  a  swing  that  carried  his  hearers  with  him.  I,  who  had 
never  before  been  able  to  understand  a  word  of  the  subject, 
became  keenly  interested  in  it,  and  before  many  lessons  were 
over  was  very  well  up  in  it.  As  Jorgen  Lund  taught  mathe- 
matics, so  all  the  other  subjects  ought  to  have  been  taught. 
We  were  obliged  to  be  content  with  less. 

Lessons  might  have  been  a  pleasure.  They  never  were, 
or  rather,  only  the  Danish  ones.  But  in  childhood's  years, 
and  during  the  first  years  of  boyhood  they  were  fertilising. 
As  a  boy  they  hung  over  me  like  a  dread  compulsion;  yet 
the  compulsion  was  beneficial.  It  was  only  when  I  was 
almost  fourteen  that  I  began  inwardly  to  rebel  against 
the  time  which  was  wasted,  that  the  stupidest  and  laziest  of 
the  boys  might  be  enabled  to  keep  up  with  the  industrious  and 
intelligent.  There  was  too  much  consideration  shown  towards 
those  who  would  not  work  or  could  not  understand.  And 
from  the  time  I  was  sixteen,  school  was  my  despair.  I  had 
done  with  it  all,  was  beyond  it  all,  was  too  matured  to  submit 
to  the  routine  of  lessons;  my  Intellectual  pulses  no  longer  beat 
within  the  limits  of  school.  What  absorbed  my  interest 
was  the  endeavour  to  become  master  of  the  Danish  language 
in  prose  and  verse,  and  musings  over  the  mystery  of  exist- 
ence. In  school  I  most  often  threw  up  the  sponge  entirely, 
and  laid  my  head  on  my  arms  that  I  might  neither  see  nor 
hear  what  was  going  on  around  me. 

There  was  another  reason,  besides  my  weariness  of  It  all, 
which  at  this  latter  period  made  my  school-going  a  torture 
to  me.  I  was  by  now  sufficiently  schooled  for  my  sensible 
mother  to  think  It  would  be  good  for  me  to  make,  if  it  were 
but  a  small  beginning,  towards  earning  my  own  living.  Or 
rather,  she  wanted  me  to  earn  enough  to  pay  for  my  amuse- 
ments myself.  So  I  tried,  with  success,  to  find  pupils,  and 
gave  them  lessons  chiefly  on  Sunday  mornings;  but  in  order 
to  secure  them  I  had  called  myself  Stiidiosus.     Now  it  was 


40  REMINISCENCES 

an  ever  present  terror  with  me  lest  I  should  meet  any  of  my 
pupils  as  I  went  to  school  in  the  morning,  or  back  at  midday, 
with  my  books  in  a  strap  under  my  arm.  Not  to  betray  my- 
self, I  used  to  stuff  these  books  in  the  most  extraordinary 
places,  inside  the  breast  of  my  coat  till  it  bulged,  and  in  all  my 
pockets  till  they  burst. 

IX. 

School  is  a  foretaste  of  life.  A  boy  in  a  large  Copen- 
hagen school  would  become  acquainted,  as  it  were  in  minia- 
ture, with  Society  in  its  entirety  and  with  every  description 
of  human  character.  I  encountered  among  my  comrades  the 
most  varied  human  traits,  from  frankness  to  reserve,  from 
goodness,  uprightness  and  kindness,  to  brutality  and  baseness. 

In  our  quarter  of  an  hour's  playtime  it  was  easy  to  see 
how  cowardice  and  meanness  met  with  their  reward  in  the 
boy  commonwealth.  There  was  a  Jewish  boy  of  repulsive 
appearance,  very  easy  to  cow,  with  a  positively  slavish  dis- 
position. Every  single  playtime  his  schoolfellows  would 
make  him  stand  up  against  a  wall  and  jump  about  with  his 
feet  close  together  till  playtime  was  over,  while  the  others 
stood  in  front  of  him  and  laughed  at  him.  He  became  later 
a  highly  respected  Conservative  journalist. 

In  lesson  time  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  equality  under 
one  discipline,  under  the  hierarchy  of  merit,  which  was  ex- 
pressed in  the  boys'  places  on  the  forms,  from  highest  to  low- 
est, was  not  maintained  when  opposed  to  the  very  different 
hierarchy  of  Society.  On  the  lowest  form  sat  a  boy  whose 
gifts  were  exceedingly  mediocre,  and  who  was  ignorant, 
moreover,  from  sheer  laziness;  to  him  were  permitted  things 
forbidden  to  all  the  others :  he  was  the  heir  of  a  large  feudal 
barony.  He  always  came  late  to  school,  and  even  at  that 
rode  in  followed  by  a  groom  on  a  second  horse.  He  wore 
a  silk  hat  and,  when  he  came  into  the  schoolroom,  did  not 
hang  it  up  on  the  peg  that  belonged  to  him,  where  he  was 
afraid  it  might  be  interfered  with,  but  in  the  school  cupboard, 
in  which  only  the  master  was  supposed  to  keep  his  things;  and 
the  tall  hat  crowning  so  noble  a  head  impressed  the  masters 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  41 

to  such  an  extent  that  not  one  of  them  asked  for  It  to  be  re- 
moved. And  they  acquiesced  like  lambs  In  the  young  lord's 
departure  half-way  through  the  last  lesson,  If  the  groom  hap- 
pened to  be  there  with  his  horse  to  fetch  him. 

It  seemed  Impossible  to  drive  knowledge  of  any  sort  Into 
the  head  of  this  young  peer,  and  he  was  taken  from  school 
early.  To  what  an  extent  he  must  have  worked  later  to 
make  up  for  lost  time  was  proved  by  results.  For  he  became 
nothing  less  than  a  Minister. 


The  reverence  with  which  the  boys,  as  youngsters,  had 
looked  up  to  the  masters,  disappeared  with  striking  rapidity. 
The  few  teachers  In  whose  lessons  you  could  do  what  you 
liked  were  despised.  The  masters  who  knew  how  to  make 
themselves  respected,  only  In  exceptional  cases  Inspired  affec- 
tion. The  love  of  mockery  soon  broke  out.  Children  had 
not  been  at  school  long  before  the  only  opinion  they  allowed 
scope  to  was  that  the  masters  were  the  natural  enemies  of 
the  boys.  There  was  war  between  them,  and  every  stratagem 
was  permissible.  They  were  fooled,  misled,  and  plagued  In 
every  conceivable  manner.  Or  they  were  feared  and  we  flat- 
tered them. 

A  little  boy  with  a  natural  Inclination  to  reverence  and 
respect  and  who  brought  both  Industry  and  good-will  to  his 
work,  felt  confused  by  all  the  derogatory  things  he  was  con- 
stantly hearing  about  the  masters,  and,  long  before  he  was 
half  grown  up,  formed  as  one  result  of  It  the  fixed  deter- 
mination that,  whatever  he  might  be  when  he  grew  up,  there 
was  one  thing  he  would  never,  under  any  circumstances  be, 
and  that  was — master  in  a  school. 

From  twelve  years  of  age  upwards,  contempt  for  the 
masters  was  the  keynote  of  all  conversation  about  them. 
The  Latin  master,  a  little,  insignificant-looking  man,  but  a 
very  good  teacher,  was  said  to  be  so  disgracefully  enfeebled 
hy  debauchery  that  an  active  boy  could  throw  him  without 
the  least  difficulty.  The  Natural  Histoi-y  master,  a  clever, 
outspoken  young  man,  who  would  call  out  gaily:     "  SHence 


42  REMINISCENCES 

there,  or  you'll  get  a  dusting  on  the  teapot  that  will  make 
the  spout  fly  off !  "  sank  deeply  in  our  estimation  when  one  of 
the  boys  told  us  that  he  spent  his  evenings  at  music-halls.  One 
morning  there  spread  like  wildfire  through  the  class  the  re- 
port that  the  reason  the  Natural  History  master  had  not  come 
that  day  was  because  he  had  got  mixed  up  the  night  before  in 
a  fight  outside  a  music-pavilion.  The  contempt  and  the  ridi- 
cule that  were  heaped  upon  him  in  the  conversation  of  the 
boys  were  immeasurable.  When  he  came  next  morning  with 
a  black,  extravasated  eye,  which  he  bathed  at  intervals  with 
a  rag,  he  was  regarded  by  most  of  us  as  absolute  scum.  The 
German  master,  a  tall,  good-looking  man,  was  treated  as  ut- 
terly incompetent  because,  when  he  asked  a  question  in  gram- 
mar or  syntax,  he  walked  up  and  down  with  the  book  in  front 
of  him,  and  quite  plainly  compared  the  answer  with  the  book. 
We  boys  thought  that  anyone  could  be  a  master,  with  a  book 
in  his  hand.  History  and  Geography  were  taught  by  an  old 
man,  overflowing  with  good-humour,  loquacious,  but  self-con- 
fident, liked  for  his  amiability,  but  despised  for  what  was 
deemed  unmanliness  in  him.  The  boys  pulled  faces  at  him, 
and  imitated  his  expressions  and  mannerisms. 

^  The  Danish  master.  Professor  H.  P.  Hoist,  was  not 
liked.  He  evidently  took  no  interest  in  his  scholastic  labours, 
and  did  not  like  the  boys.  His  coolness  was  returned.  And 
yet,  that  which  was  the  sole  aim  and  object  of  his  instruction 
he  understood  to  perfection,  and  drilled  into  us  well.  The 
unfortunate  part  of  it  was  that  there  was  hardly  more  than 
one  boy  in  the  class  who  enjoyed  learning  anything  about  just 
that  particular  thing.  Instruction  in  Danish  was,  for  Hoist, 
instruction  in  the  metrical  art.  He  explained  every  metre  and 
taught  the  boys  to  pick  out  the  feet  of  which  the  verses  were 
composed.  When  we  made  fun  of  him  in  our  playtime,  it 
was  for  remarks  which  we  had  invented  and  placed  in  his 
mouth  ourselves;  for  instance:  "Scan  my  immortal  poem, 
The  Dy'wg  Gladiator."  The  reason  of  this  was  simply  that, 
in  elucidation  of  the  composition  of  the  antique  distich,  he 
made  use  of  his  own  poem  of  the  above  name,  which  he  had 
included  in  a  Danish  reading-book  edited  by  himself.  As 
soon  as  he  took  up  his  position  in  the  desk,  he  began : 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  43 

"  Hark  ye  the — storm  of  ap — plause  from  the —  thea- 
tre's— echoing  circle!  Go  on,  Moller!" 

How  could  he  find  it  in  his  heart,  his  own  poem ! 


XI. 

The  French  master  knew  how  to  command  respect; 
there  was  never  a  sound  during  his  lessons.  He  was  alto- 
gether absorbed  in  his  subject,  was  absolutely  and  wholly  a 
Frenchman ;  he  did  not  even  talk  Danish  with  the  same  ac- 
centuation as  others,  and  he  had  the  impetuous  French  dispo- 
sition of  which  the  boys  had  heard.  If  a  boy  made  a  mess 
of  his  pronunciation,  he  would  bawl,  from  the  depths  of  his 
full  brown  beard,  which  he  was  fond  of  stroking:  "You 
speak  French  comme  iin  paysan  d'Amac."  When  he  swore, 
he  swore  like  a  true  Frenchman:  ^^  Sacrebleu-Mops-Carot- 
ten-RapeeF'^  If  he  got  angry,  and  he  very  often  did,  he 
would  unhesitatingly  pick  up  the  full  glass  of  water  that  al- 
ways stood  in  front  of  him  on  the  desk,  and  in  Gallic  exasper- 
ation fling  it  on  the  floor,  when  the  glass  would  be  smashed 
to  atoms  and  the  water  run  about,  whereupon  he  would 
quietly,  with  his  Grand  seigneur  air,  take  his  purse  out  of  his 
pocket  and  lay  the  money  for  the  glass  on  the  desk. 

For  a  time  I  based  my  ideas  of  the  French  mind  and 
manner  upon  this  master,  although  my  uncle  Jacob,  who  had 
lived  almost  all  his  life  in  Paris,  was  a  very  different  sort  of 
Frenchman.  It  was  only  later  that  I  became  acquainted  with 
a  word  and  an  idea  which  it  was  well  I  did  not  know,  as  far 
as  the  master's  capacity  for  making  an  impression  was  con- 
cerned— the  word  affected. 

At  last,  one  fine  day,  a  little  event  occurred  which  was 
not  without  its  effect  on  the  master's  prestige,  and  yet  aroused 
my  compassion  almost  as  much  as  my  surprise.  The  parents 
of  one  of  my  best  friends  were  expecting  a  French  business 
friend  for  the  evening.  As  they  knew  themselves  to  be  very 
weak  in  the  language,  they  gave  their  son  a  polite  note  to  the 

^  Needless  to  say,  this  is  impossible  French,  composed  chiefly  of  distorted 
Danish  words.      (Trans.) 


44  REMINISCENCES 

French  master,  asking  him  to  do  them  the  honour  oi  spending 
the  next  evening  at  their  house,  on  the  occasion  of  this  visit, 
which  rendered  conversational  support  desirable.  The  mas- 
ter took  the  note,  which  we  two  boys  had  handed  to  him,  grew 
— superior  though  he  usually  was — rather  red  and  embar- 
rassed, and  promised  a  written  reply.  To  our  astonishment 
we  learnt  that  this  reply  was  to  the  effect  that  he  must  unfor- 
tunately decline  the  honour,  as  he  had  never  been  in  France, 
had  never  heard  anyone  speak  French,  and  was  not  proficient 
in  the  language.  Thus  this  tiger  of  a  savage  Frenchman  sud- 
denly cast  his  tiger's  skin  and  revealed  himself  in  his  native 
wool. 

Unfortunately,  the  instruction  of  this  master  left  long 
and  deep  traces  upon  me.  When  I  was  fifteen  and  my  French 
uncle  began  to  carry  on  his  conversations  with  me  in  French, 
the  Parisian  was  appalled  at  my  abominable  errors  of  pro- 
nunciation. The  worst  of  them  were  weeded  out  in  those 
lessons.  But  there  were  enough  left  to  bring  a  smile  many 
a  time  and  oft  to  the  lips  of  the  refined  young  lady  whom 
my  friends  procured  me  as  a  teacher  on  my  first  visit  to  Paris. 

XII. 

Among  the  delights  of  Summer  were  picnics  to  the 
woods.  There  would  be  several  during  the  course  of  the 
season.  When  the  weather  seemed  to  inspire  confidence,  a 
few  phaetons  would  be  engaged  for  the  family  and  their  re- 
lations and  friends,  and  some  Sunday  morning  the  seat 
of  each  carriage  would  be  packed  full  of  good  things.  We 
took  tablecloth  and  serviettes  with  us,  bread,  butter,  eggs  and 
salmon,  sausages,  cold  meat  and  coffee,  as  well  as  a  few  bot- 
tles of  wine.  Then  we  drove  to  some  keeper's  house,  where 
for  money  and  fair  words  they  scalded  the  tea  for  us,  and 
the  day's  meal  was  seasoned  with  the  good  appetite  which 
the  outdoor  air  gave  us. 

As  a  child  I  preserved  an  uncomfortable  and  instructive 
recollection  of  one  of  these  expeditions.  The  next  day  my 
mother  said  to  me:  "  You  behaved  very  ridiculously  yester- 
day, and  made  a  laughing  stock  of  yourself."     "How?" 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  45 

"  You  went  on  in  front  of  the  grown-up  people  all  the  time, 
and  sang  at  the  top  of  your  voice.  In  the  first  place,  you 
ought  not  to  go  in  front,  and  in  the  next  place,  you  should  not 
disturb  other  people  by  singing."  These  words  made  an  In- 
delible impression  upon  me,  for  I  was  conscious  that  I  had 
not  in  the  least  intended  to  push  myself  forward  or  put  on 
airs.  I  could  only  dimly  recollect  that  I  had  been  singing, 
and  I  had  done  it  for  my  own  pleasure,  not  to  draw  attention 
to  myself. 

I  learnt  from  this  experience  that  It  was  possible,  with- 
out being  naughty  or  conceited,  to  behave  In  an  unpleasing 
manner,  understood  that  the  others,  whom  I  had  not  been 
thinking  about,  had  looked  on  me  with  disfavour,  had  thought 
me  a  nuisance  and  ridiculous,  my  mother  In  particular;  and  I 
was  deeply  humiliated  at  the  thought. 

It  gradually  dawned  upon  me  that  there  was  no  one 
more  difficult  to  please  than  my  mother.  No  one  was  more 
chary  of  praise  than  she,  and  she  had  a  horror  of  all  sentimen- 
tality. She  met  me  with  superior  intelligence,  corrected  me, 
and  brought  me  up  by  means  of  satire.  It  was  possible 
to  impress  my  aunts,  but  not  her.  The  profound  dread 
she  had  of  betraying  her  feelings  or  talking  about  them, 
the  shrewdness  that  dwelt  behind  that  forehead  of  hers, 
her  consistently  critical  and  clear-sighted  nature,  the  mock- 
ing spirit  that  was  so  conspicuous  In  her,  especially  In  her 
younger  days,  gave  me,  with  regard  to  her,  a  conviction  that 
had  a  stimulating  effect  on  my  character — namely,  that  not 
only  had  she  a  mother's  affection  for  me,  but  that  the  two 
shrewd  and  scrutinising  eyes  of  a  very  clever  head  were  look- 
ing down  upon  me.  Rational  as  she  was  through  and 
through,  she  met  my  visionary  Inclinations,  both  religious  and 
philosophical,  with  unshaken  common  sense,  and  if  I  were 
sometimes  tempted,  by  lesser  people's  over-estimating  of  my 
abilities,  to  over-estimate  them  myself.  It  was  she  who,  with 
Inflexible  firmness,  urged  her  conviction  of  the  limitations  of 
my  nature.  None  of  my  weaknesses  throve  In  my  mother's 
neighbourhood. 

This  was  the  reason  why,  during  the  transitional  years 
between  boyhood  and  adolescence,  the  years  in  which  a  boy 


46  REMINISCENCES 

feels  a  greater  need  of  sympathy  than  of  criticism  and  of  in- 
dulgence than  of  superiority,  I  looked  for  and  found  com- 
prehension as  much  from  a  somewhat  younger  sister  of  my 
mother's  as  from  the  latter  herself.  This  aunt  was  all  heart. 
She  had  an  ardent,  enthusiastic  brain,  was  full  of  tenderness 
and  goodness  and  the  keenest  feeling  for  everything  deserv- 
ing of  sympathy,  not  least  for  me,  while  she  had  not  my  moth- 
er's critical  understanding.  Her  judgment  might  be  ob- 
scured by  passion;  she  sometimes  allowed  herself  to  be  car- 
ried to  imprudent  extremes;  she  had  neither  Mother's  equilib- 
rium nor  her  satirical  qualities.  She  was  thus  admirably 
adapted  to  be  the  confidant  of  a  big  boy  whom  she  gave  to 
understand  that  she  regarded  as  extraordinarily  gifted.  When 
these  transitional  years  were  over,  Mother  resumed  undis- 
puted sway,  and  the  relations  between  us  remained  in  all  essen- 
tials the  same,  even  after  I  had  become  much  her  superior  in 
knowledge  and  she  in  some  things  my  pupil.  So  that  it  af- 
fected me  very  much  when,  many  years  after,  my  younger 
brother  said  to  me  somewhat  sadly:  "Has  it  struck  you, 
too,  that  Mother  is  getting  old?  "  "  No,  not  at  all,"  I  re- 
plied. '*  What  do  you  think  a  sign  of  it?  "  "  I  think,  God 
help  me,  that  she  is  beginning  to  admire  us." 

XIII. 

My  mind,  like  that  of  all  other  children,  had  been  ex- 
ercised by  the  great  problem  of  the  mystery  of  our  coming 
into  the  world.  1  was  no  longer  satisfied  with  the  explana- 
tion that  children  were  brought  by  the  stork,  or  with  that 
other,  advanced  with  greater  seriousness,  that  they  drifted  up 
in  boxes,  which  were  taken  up  out  of  Peblinge  Lake.  As  a 
child  I  tormented  my  mother  with  questions  as  to  how  you 
could  tell  whom  every  box  was  for.  That  the  boxes  were 
numbered,  did  not  make  things  much  clearer.  That  they 
were  provided  with  addresses,  sounded  very  strange.  Who 
had  written  the  addresses?  I  then  had  to  be  content  with 
the  assurance  that  it  was  a  thing  that  I  was  too  small  to  un- 
derstand; it  should  be  explained  to  me  when  I  was  older. 

My  thoughts  were  not  directed  towards  the  other  sex. 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  47 

I  had  no  little  girl  playfellows,  and  as  I  had  no  sister,  knew 
very  few.  When  I  was  eight  or  nine  years  old,  it  is  true, 
there  was  one  rough  and  altogether  depraved  boy  whose  talk 
touched  upon  the  sexual  question  in  expressions  that  were 
coarse  and  in  a  spirit  coarser  still.  I  was  scoffed  at  for  not 
knowing  how  animals  propagated  themselves,  and  that  hu- 
man beings  propagated  themselves  like  animals. 

I  replied:  "  My  parents,  at  any  rate,  never  behaved  in 
any  such  manner."  Then,  with  the  effrontery  of  childhood, 
my  schoolfellows  went  on  to  the  most  shameless  revelations, 
not  only  about  a  morbid  development  of  natural  instincts, 
but  actual  crimes  against  nature  and  against  the  elementary 
laws  of  society.  In  other  words,  I  was  shown  the  most  re- 
pulsive, most  agitating  picture  of  everything  touching  the 
relations  of  the  sexes  and  the  propagation  of  the  species. 

It  is  probable  that  most  boys  In  a  big  school  have  the 
great  mystery  of  Nature  sullied  for  them  In  their  tender  years 
by  coarseness  and  depravity.  Whereas,  In  ancient  Greek 
times,  the  mystery  was  holy,  and  with  a  pious  mind  men  w^or- 
shlpped  the  Force  of  Nature  without  exaggerated  prudery 
and  without  shamelessness,  such  conditions  are  impossible  In 
a  society  where  for  a  thousand  years  Nature  herself  has  been 
depreciated  by  Religion,  associated  with  sin  and  the  Devil, 
stamped  as  unmentionable  and  In  preference  denied.  In  which, 
for  that  very  reason,  brutality  takes  so  much  more  terrible 
a  satisfaction  and  revenge.  As  grown-up  people  never  spoke 
of  the  forces  of  Nature  In  a  pure  and  simple  manner,  it  be- 
came to  the  children  a  concealed  thing.  Individual  children, 
in  whom  the' sexual  Impulse  had  awakened  early,  were  taught 
its  nature  by  bestial  dispositions,  and  the  knowledge  was  In- 
terpreted by  them  with  childish  shamelessness.  These  chil- 
dren then  filled  the  ears  of  their  comrades  with  filth. 

In  my  case,  the  nastiness  hit,  and  rebounded,  without 
making  any  Impression.  I  was  only  infected  by  the  tone  of 
the  other  scholars  in  so  far  as  I  learnt  from  them  that  it  was 
manly  to  use  certain  ugly  words.  When  I  was  twelve  years 
old,  my  mother  surprised  me  one  day,  when  I  was  stand- 
ing alone  on  the  stairs,  shouting  these  words  out.  I  was  re- 
proved for  It,  and  did  not  do  it  again. 


48  REMINISCENCES 

XIV. 

I  hardly  ever  met  little  girls  except  at  children's  balls, 
and  in  my  early  childhood  1  did  not  think,  further  of  any  of 
them.  But  when  I  was  twelve  years  old  I  caught  my  first 
strong  glimpse  of  one  of  the  fundamental  forces  of  exist- 
ence, whose  votary  I  was  destined  to  be  for  life — namely, 
Beauty. 

It  was  revealed  to  me  for  the  first  time  in  the  person  of 
a  slender,  light-footed  little  girl,  whose  name  and  personality 
secretly  haunted  my  brain  for  many  a  year. 

One  of  my  uncles  was  living  that  Summer  in  America 
Road,  which  at  that  time  was  quite  in  the  country,  and  there 
was  a  beautiful  walk  thence  across  the  fields  to  a  spot  called 
The  Signal,  where  you  could  watch  the  trains  go  by  from 
Copenhagen's  oldest  railway  station,  which  was  not  situated 
on  the  western  side  of  the  town,  where  the  present  stations 
are.  Near  here  lived  a  family  whose  youngest  daughter  used 
to  run  over  almost  every  day  to  my  uncle's  country  home,  to 
play  with  the  children. 

She  was  ten  years  old,  as  brown  as  a  gipsy,  as  agile  as  a 
roe,  and  from  her  childish  face,  from  all  the  brown  of  her 
hair,  eyes,  and  skin,  from  her  smile  and  her  speech,  glowed, 
rang,  and  as  it  were,  struck  me,  that  overwhelming  and  hith- 
erto unknown  force,  Beauty.  I  was  twelve,  she  was  ten.  Our 
acquaintance  consisted  of  playing  touch,  not  even  alone  to- 
gether, but  W'ith  other  children ;  I  can  see  her  now  rushing 
away  from  me,  her  long  plaits  striking  against  her  waist. 
But  although  this  was  all  that  passed  between  us,  we  both  had 
a  feeling  as  of  a  mysterious  link  connecting  us.  It  was  de- 
lightful to  meet.  She  gave  me  a  pink.  She  cut  a  Queen  of 
Hearts  out  of  a  pack  of  cards,  and  gave  It  to  me;  I  treasured 
it  for  the  next  five  years  like  a  sacred  thing. 

That  w'as  all  that  passed  between  us  and  more  there 
never  was,  even  when  at  twelve  years  of  age,  at  a  children's 
ball,  she  confessed  to  me  that  she  had  kept  everything  I  had 
given  her — gifts  of  the  same  order  as  her  own.  But  the  im- 
pression of  her  beauty  filled  my  being. 

Some  one  had  made  me  a  present  of  some  stuffed  hum- 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  49 

ming-birds,  perched  on  \4arnished  twigs  under  a  glass  case.  I 
always  looked  at  them  while  I  was  reading  in  the  nursery; 
they  stood  on  the  bookshelves  which  were  my  special  prop- 
erty. These  birds  with  their  lovely,  shining,  gay-coloured 
plumage,  conveyed  to  me  my  first  impression  of  foreign 
or  tropical  vividness  of  colouring.  All  that  I  was  destined 
to  love  for  a  long  time  had  something  of  that  about  it,  some- 
thing foreign  and  afar  off. 

The  girl  was  Danish  as  far  as  her  speech  was  concerned, 
but  not  really  Danish  by  descent,  either  on  her  father  or  her 
mother's  side;  her  name,  too,  was  un-Danish.  She  spoke 
English  at  home  and  was  called  Mary  at  my  uncle's,  though 
her  parents  called  her  by  another  name.  All  this  combined 
to  render  her  more  distinctive. 

Once  a  year  I  met  her  at  a  children's  ball;  then  she  had 
a  white  dress  on,  and  was,  in  my  eyes,  essentially  different 
from  all  the  other  little  girls.  One  morning,  after  one  of 
these  balls,  when  I  was  fourteen,  I  felt  in  a  most  singular 
frame  of  mind,  and  with  wonder  and  reverence  at  what  I 
was  about  to  do,  regarding  myself  as  dominated  by  a  higher, 
incomprehensible  force,  I  wrote  the  first  poetry  I  ever 
composed. 

There  were  several  strophes  of  this  heavenly  poetry. 
Just  because  I  so  seldom  met  her,  it  was  like  a  gentle  earth- 
quake in  my  life,  when  I  did.  I  had  accustomed  myself  to 
such  a  worship  of  her  name  that,  for  me,  she  hardly  be- 
longed to  the  world  of  reality  at  all.  But  when  I  was  six- 
teen and  I  met  her  again,  once  more  at  a  young  people's  ball, 
the  glamour  suddenly  departed.  Her  appearance  had  altered 
and  corresponded  no  longer  to  my  imaginary  picture  of  her. 
When  we  met  in  the  dance  she  pressed  my  hand,  which  made 
me  indignant,  rs  though  it  were  an  immodest  thing.  She 
was  no  longer  a  fairy.  She  had  broad  shoulders,  a  budding 
bust,  warm  hands;  there  was  youthful  coquetry  about  her — 
something  that,  to  me,  seemed  like  erotic  experience.  I  soon 
lost  sight  of  her.  But  T  retained  a  sentiment  of  gratitude  to- 
w^ards  her  for  what,  as  a  ten-year-old  child,  she  had  afforded 
me,  this  naturally  supernatural  Impression,  my  first  revelation, 
of  Beauty. 


50  REMINISCENCES 

XV. 

The  person  upon  whom  the  schoolboys'  attention  centred 
was,  of  course,  the  Headmaster.  To  the  very  young  ones, 
the  Headmaster  was  merely  powerful  and  paternal,  up  above 
everything.  As  soon  as  the  critical  instinct  awoke,  its  utter- 
ances were  specially  directed,  by  the  evil-disposed,  at  him, 
petty  and  malicious  as  they  were,  and  were  echoed  slavishly 
by  the  rest. 

As  the  Head  was  a  powerful,  stout,  handsome,  distin- 
guished-looking man  with  a  certain  stamp  of  joviality  and 
innocent  good-living  about  him,  these  malicious  tongues,  who 
led  the  rest,  declared  that  he  only  lived  for  his  stomach.  In 
the  next  place,  the  old-fashioned  punishment  of  caning,  ad- 
ministered by  the  Head  himself  in  his  private  room,  gave 
some  cause  of  offence.  It  was  certainly  only  very  lazy  and  ob- 
durate boys  who  were  thus  punished;  for  others  such  methods 
were  never  even  dreamt  of.  But  when  they  were  ordered  to 
appear  in  his  room  after  school-time,  and  the  Head  took  them 
between  his  knees,  thrashed  them  well  and  then  afterwards 
caressed  them,  as  though  to  console  them,  he  created  ill-feel- 
ing, and  his  dignity  suffered.  If  there  were  some  little  sense 
in  the  disgust  occasioned  by  this,  there  was  certainly  none  at 
all  in  certain  other  grievances  urged  against  him. 

It  was  the  ungraceful  custom  for  the  boys,  on  the  first 
of  the  month,  to  bring  their  own  school  fees.  In  the  middle 
of  one  of  the  lessons  the  Head  would  come  into  the  school- 
room, take  his  seat  at  the  desk,  and  jauntily  and  quickly  sweep 
five-daler  bills^  into  his  large,  soft  hat  and  thence  into  his 
pockets.  One  objection  to  this  arrangement  was  that  the 
few  poor  boys  who  went  to  school  free  were  thus  singled  out 
to  their  schoolfellows,  bringing  no  money,  which  they  felt 
as  a  humiliation.  In  the  next  place,  the  sight  of  the  supposed 
wealth  that  the  Head  thus  became  possessed  of  roused  ill- 
feeling  and  derision.  It  became  the  fashion  to  call  him  boy- 
dealer,  because  the  school,  which  in  its  palmy  days  had  550 
scholars,  was  so  well  attended.  This  extraordinary  influx, 
which  in  all  common  sense  ought  to  have  been  regarded  as  a 

^  Five   daler,   a   little   over   11/ —  English   money. 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  51 

proof  of  the  high  reputation  of  the  school,  was  considered 
a  proof  of  the  Head's  avarice. 

It  must  be  added  that  there  was  in  his  bearing,  which 
was  evidently  and  with  good  reason,  calculated  to  impress, 
something  that  might  justly  appear  unnatural  to  keen-sighted 
boys.  He  always  arrived  with  blustering  suddenness;  he  al- 
ways shouted  in  a  stentorian  voice,  and,  when  he  gave  the  elder 
boys  a  Latin  lesson,  he  always  appeared,  probably  from  indo- 
lence, a  good  deal  behind  time,  but  to  make  up,  and  as  though 
there  were  not  a  second  to  waste,  began  to  hurl  his  questions 
at  them  the  moment  he  arrived  on  the  threshold.  He  liked 
the  pathetic,  and  was  certainly  a  man  with  a  naturally  warm 
heart.  On  a  closer  acquaintance,  he  would  have  won  much 
affection,  for  he  was  a  clever  man  and  a  gay,  optimistic  figure. 
As  the  number  of  his  scholars  was  so  great,  he  produced 
more  effect  at  a  distance. 

XVI. 

Neither  he  nor  any  of  the  other  masters  reproduced  the 
atmosphere  of  the  classical  antiquity  round  which  all  the  in- 
struction of  the  Latin  side  centred.  The  master  who  taught 
Greek  the  last  few  years  did  so,  not  only  with  sternness,  but 
with  a  distaste,  in  fact,  a  positive  hatred  for  his  class,  which 
was  simply  disgusting. 

The  Head,  who  had  the  gift  of  oratoi*y,  communicated 
to  us  some  idea  of  the  beauty  of  Latin  poetry,  but  the  rest  of 
the  instruction  in  the  dead  languages  was  purely  grammatical, 
competent  and  conscientious  though  the  men  who  gave  it 
might  have  been.  Madvig's^  spirit  brooded  over  the  school. 
Still,  there  was  no  doubt  in  the  Head's  mind  as  to  the  great- 
ness of  Virgil  or  Horace,  so  that  a  boy  with  perception  of 
stylistic  emphasis  and  metre  could  not  fail  to  be  keenly  inter- 
ested in  the  poetry  of  these  two  men.  Being  the  boy  in  the 
class  of  whom  the  Head  entertained  the  greatest  hopes,  I  be- 
gan at  once  secretly  to  translate  them.     I  made  a  Danish 

*Johan  Nicolai  Madvipc  (1804-1886),  a  very  celebrated  Danish  philolo- 
gist, for  fifty  years  professor  at  the  University  of  Copenhagen.  He  is  espe- 
cially noted  for  his  editions  of  the  ancient  classics,  with  critical  notes  on  the 
text,  and  for  his  Latin  Grammar. — [Translator's  note.] 


52  REMINISCENCES 

version  of  the  second  and  fourth  books  of  the  iEneid,  and 
Danicised  a  good  part  of  the  Songs  and  Epistles  of  Horace  in 
imperfect  verse. 

XVII. 

Nothing  was  ever  said  at  home  about  any  religious  creed. 
Neither  of  my  parents  was  in  any  way  associated  with  the 
Jewish  religion,  and  neither  of  them  ever  went  to  the  Syna- 
gogue. As  in  my  maternal  grandmother's  house  all  the  Jew- 
ish laws  about  eating  and  drinking  were  observed,  and  they 
had  different  plates  and  dishes  for  meat  and  butter  and  a 
special  service  for  Easter,  orthodox  Judaism,  to  me,  seemed 
to  be  a  collection  of  old,  whimsical,  superstitious  prejudices, 
which  specially  applied  to  food.  The  poetry  of  it  was  a 
sealed  book  to  me.  At  school,  where  I  was  present  at  the 
religious  instruction  classes  as  an  auditor  only,  I  always  heard 
Judaism  alluded  to  as  merely  a  preliminary  stage  of  Christi- 
anity, and  the  Jews  as  the  remnant  of  a  people  who,  as  a 
punishment  for  slaying  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  had  been 
scattered  all  over  the  earth.  The  present-day  Israelites  were 
represented  as  people  who,  urged  by  a  stiff-necked  wilfulness 
and  obstinacy  and  almost  incomprehensible  callousness,  clung 
to  the  obsolete  religious  ideal  of  the  stern  God  in  opposition 
to  the  God  of  Love. 

When  I  attempted  to  think  the  matter  out  for  myself, 
it  annoyed  me  that  the  Jews  had  not  sided  with  Jesus,  who 
yet  so  clearly  betokened  progress  within  the  religion  that  He 
widened  and  unintentionally  overthrew.  The  supernatural 
personality  of  Jesus  did  not  seem  credible  to  me.  The  de- 
mand made  by  faith,  namely,  that  reason  should  be  fettered, 
awakened  a  latent  rebellious  opposition,  and  this  opposition 
was  fostered  by  my  mother's  steady  rationalism,  her  uncondi- 
tional rejection  of  every  miracle.  When  the  time  came  for 
me  to  be  confirmed,  in  accordance  with  the  law,  I  had  ad- 
vanced so  far  that  I  looked  down  on  what  lay  before  me  as  a 
mere  burdensome  ceremony.  The  person  of  the  Rabbi  only 
inspired  me  with  distaste;  his  German  pronunciation  of  Dan- 
ish was  repulsive  and  ridiculous  to  me.  The  abominable 
Danish  in  which  the  lesson-book  was  couched  offended  me,  as 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  53 

I  had  naturally  a  fine  ear  for  Danish.  Information  about 
ancient  Jewish  customs  and  festivals  was  of  no  interest  to  me, 
with  my  modern  upbringing.  The  confirmation,  according 
to  my  mocking  summary  of  the  impression  produced  by  it, 
consisted  mainly  in  the  hiring  of  a  tall  silk,  hat  from  the  hat- 
maker,  and  the  sending  of  It  back  next  day,  sanctified.  The 
silly  custom  was  at  that  time  prevalent  for  boys  to  wear  silk 
hats  for  the  occasion,  idiotic  though  they  made  them  look. 
With  these  on  their  heads,  they  went,  after  examination,  up 
the  steps  to  a  balustrade  where  a  priest  awaited,  whispered  a 
few  affecting  words  in  their  ear  about  their  parents  or  grand- 
parents, and  laid  his  hand  in  blessing  upon  the  tall  hat. 
When  called  upon  to  make  my  confession  of  faith  with  the 
others,  I  certainly  joined  my  first  "  yes,"  this  touching  a  be- 
lief In  a  God,  to  theirs,  but  remained  silent  at  the  question 
as  to  whether  I  believed  that  God  had  revealed  Himself  to 
Moses  and  spoken  by  His  prophets.     I  did  not  believe  It. 

I  was,  for  that  matter,  in  a  wavering  frame  of  mind 
unable  to  arrive  at  any  clear  understanding.  What  con- 
fused me  was  the  unveraclous  manner  In  which  historical 
instruction,  which  was  wholly  theological,  was  given.  The 
History  masters,  for  Instance,  told  us  that  when  Julian  the 
Apostate  wanted  to  rebuild  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem,  flames 
had  shot  out  of  the  earth,  but  they  Interpreted  this  as  a  mir- 
acle, expressing  the  Divine  will.  If  this  were  true — and  I 
was  unable  to  refute  It  then — God  had  expressly  taken  part 
against  Judaism  and  the  Jews  as  a  nation.  The  nation,  in 
that  case,  seemed  to  be  really  cursed  by  Him.  Still,  Christi- 
anity fundamentally  repelled  me  by  Its  legends,  its  dogma- 
tism, and  its  church  rites.  The  Virgin  birth,  the  three  per- 
sons In  the  Trinity,  and  the  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper 
In  particular,  seemed  to  me  to  be  remnants  of  the  basest  bar- 
barism of  antiquity. 

Under  these  circumstances,  my  young  soul,  feeling  the 
need  of  something  It  could  worship,  fled  from  Asia's  to  Eu- 
rope's divinities,  from  Palestine  to  Hellas,  and  clung  with 
vivid  enthusiasm  to  the  Greek  world  of  beauty  and  the  le- 
gends of  Its  Gods.  From  all  the  learned  education  I  had 
had,  I  only  extracted  this  one  thing:  an  enthusiasm  for  an- 


54  REMINISCEaXES 

cient  Hellas  and  her  Gods;  they  were  my  Gods,  as  they  had 
been  those  of  Julian.  Apollo  and  Artemis,  Athene  and  Eros 
and  Aphrodite  grew  to  be  powers  that  I  believed  in  and  re- 
joiced over  in  a  very  different  sense  from  any  God  revealed 
on  Sinai  or  in  Emmaus.     They  were  near  to  me. 

And  under  these  circumstances  the  Antiquities  Room  at 
Charlottenburg,  where  as  a  boy  I  had  heard  Hoyen's  lectures, 
grew  to  be  a  place  that  I  entered  with  reverence,  and  Thor- 
waldsen's  Museum  my  Temple,  imperfectly  though  it  repro- 
duced the  religious  and  heroic  life  and  spirit  of  the  Greeks. 
But  at  that  time  I  knew  no  other,  better  door  to  the  world 
of  the  Gods  than  the  Museum  offered,  and  Thorwaldsen  and 
the  Greeks,  from  fourteen  to  fifteen,  were  in  my  mind  merged 
in  one.  Thorwaldsen's  Museum  was  to  me  a  brilliant  illus- 
tration of  Homer.  There  I  found  my  Church,  my  Gods,  my 
soul's  true  native  land. 

XVIII. 

I  had  for  several  years  been  top  of  my  class,  when  a 
boy  was  put  in  who  was  quite  three  years  older  than  I,  and 
with  whom  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  compete,  so  much 
greater  were  the  newcomer's  knowledge  and  maturity.  It 
very  soon  became  a  settled  thing  for  the  new  boy  always  to  be 
top,  and  I  invariably  No.  2.  However,  this  was  not  in  the 
least  vexatious  to  me;  I  was  too  much  wrapped  up  in  Sebas- 
tian for  that.  The  admiration  which  as  a  child  I  had 
felt  for  boys  who  distinguished  themselves  by  muscular 
strength  was  manifested  now  for  superiority  in  knowledge  or 
intelligence.  Sebastian  was  tall,  thin,  somewhat  disjointed  in 
build,  with  large  blue  eyes,  expressive  of  kindness,  and  intelli- 
gence; he  was  thoroughly  well  up  In  all  the  school  subjects, 
and  with  the  ripeness  of  the  older  boy,  could  infer  the  right 
thing  even  when  he  did  not  positively  know  It.  The  reason 
why  he  was  placed  at  lessons  so  late  was  doubtless  to  be  found 
in  the  narrow  circumstances  of  his  parents.  They  considered 
that  they  had  not  the  means  to  allow  him  to  follow  the  path 
towards  which  his  talents  pointed.  But  the  Head,  as  could 
be  seen  on  pay  days,  was  now  permitting  him  to  come  to 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  55 

school  free.  He  went  about  among  his  jacketed  schoolfel- 
lows in  a  long  frock  coat,  the  skirts  of  which  Happed  round 
his  legs. 

No.  2  could  not  help  admiring  No.  i  for  the  confidence 
with  which  he  disported  himself  among  the  Greek  aorists,  in 
the  labyrinths  of  which  I  myself  often  went  astray,  and  for 
the  knack  he  had  of  solving  mathematical  problems.  He 
was,  moreover,  very  widely  read  in  belles  lettres,  and  had 
almost  a  grown-up  man's  taste  with  regard  to  books  at  a  time 
when  I  still  continued  to  admire  P.  P.'s^  novels,  and  was  In- 
capable of  detecting  the  inartistic  quality  and  unreality  of 
his  popular  descriptions  of  the  exploits  of  sailor  heroes.  As 
soon  as  my  eyes  were  opened  to  the  other's  advanced  acquire- 
ments, I  opened  my  heart  to  him,  gave  him  my  entire  confi- 
dence, and  found  in  my  friend  a  well  of  knowledge  and  supe- 
rior development  from  which  I  felt  a  daily  need  to  draw. 

When  at  the  end  of  the  year  the  large  number  of  new- 
comers made  it  desirable  for  the  class  to  be  divided,  it  was  a 
positive  blow  to  me  that  in  the  division,  which  was  effected 
by  separating  the  scholars  according  to  their  numbers,  odd  or 
even,  Sebastian  and  I  found  ourselves  In  different  classes.  I 
even  took  the  unusual  step  of  appealing  to  the  Head  to  be 
put  In  the  same  class  as  Sebastian,  but  was  refused. 

However,  childhood  so  easily  adapts  Itself  to  a  fresh  sit- 
uation that  during  the  ensuing  year,  In  which  I  myself  ad- 
vanced right  gaily,  not  only  did  I  feel  no  lack,  but  I  for- 
got my  elder  comrade.  And  at  the  commencement  of  the 
next  school  year,  when  the  tv^^o  parallel  classes,  through  sev- 
eral boys  leaving,  were  once  more  united,  and  I  again  found 
myseJf  No.  2  by  the  side  of  my  one-time  friend,  the  relations 
between  us  were  altogether  altered,  30  thoroughly  so,  In  fact, 
that  our  roles  were  reversed.  If  formerly  the  younger  had 
hung  upon  the  elder's  words,  now  It  was  the  other  way 
about.  If  formerly  Sebastian  had  shown  the  Interest  In  me 
that  the  half-grown  man  feels  for  a  child,  now  I  was  too 
absorbed  by  my  own  interests  to  wish  for  anything  but  a  lls- 

^  p.  P.  wax  a  writer  whose  real  name  was  Riiinohr.  He  wrote  a  number 
of  historical  novels  of  a  patriotic  type,  but  which  are  only  read  by  children 
up  to  14. 


56  REMINISCENCES 

tener  in  him  when  I  unfolded  the  supposed  wealth  of  my 
ideas  and  my  soaring  plans  for  the  future,  which  betrayed  a 
boundless  ambition.  I  needed  a  friend  at  this  stage  only  in  the 
same  sense  as  the  hero  in  French  tragedies  requires  a  confi- 
dant, and  if  I  attached  myself  as  before,  wholly  and  com- 
pletely to  him,  it  was  for  this  reason.  It  is  true  that  the  other 
was  still  a  good  deal  in  front  of  me  in  actual  knowledge,  so 
that  there  was  much  I  had  to  consult  him  about;  otherwise 
our  friendship  would  hardly  have  lasted;  but  the  importance 
of  this  superiority  was  slight,  inasmuch  as  Sebastian  hencefor- 
ward voluntarily  subordinated  himself  to  me  altogether;  in- 
deed, by  his  ready  recognition  of  my  powers,  contributed 
more  than  anyone  else  to  make  me  conscious  of  these  powers 
and  to  foster  a  self-esteem  which  gradually  assumed  extra- 
ordinary forms. 

XIX. 

This  self-esteem,  in  its  immaturity,  was  of  a  twofold 
character.  It  was  not  primarily  a  belief  that  I  was  endowed 
with  unusual  abilities,  but  a  childish  belief  that  I  was  one  set 
apart,  with  whom,  for  mysterious  reasons,  everything  must 
succeed.  The  belief  in  a  personal  God  had  gradually  faded 
away  from  me,  and  there  were  times  when,  with  the  convic- 
tion of  boyhood,  I  termed  myself  an  atheist  to  my  friend; 
my  attitude  towards  the  Greek  gods  had  never  been  anything 
more  than  a  personification  of  the  ideal  forces  upon  which 
I  heaped  my  enthusiasm.  But  I  believed  in  my  star.  And  I 
hypnotised  my  friend  into  the  same  belief,  infected  him  so 
that  he  talked  as  if  he  were  consecrating  his  life  to  my  serv- 
ice, and  really,  as  far  as  was  possible  for  a  schoolboy,  lived 
and  breathed  exclusively  for  me,  I,  for  my  part,  being  grati- 
fied at  having,  as  my  unreserved  admirer  and  believer,  the 
one  whom,  of  all  people  I  knew,  I  placed  highest,  the  one 
whose  horizon  seemed  to  me  the  widest,  and  whose  store  of 
knowledge  was  the  greatest;  for  in  many  subjects  it  surpassed 
even  that  of  the  masters  in  no  mean  degree. 

Under  such  conditions,  when  I  was  fifteen  or  sixteen, 
I  was  deeply  impressed  by  a  book  that  one  might  think  was 
infinitely  beyond  the  understanding  of  my  years,  Lermontof's 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  57 

A  Hero  of  Our  Time,  in  Xavicr  Marmier's  French  trans- 
lation. The  subject  of  it  would  seem  utterly  unsuited  to  a 
schoolboy  who  had  never  experienced  anything  in  the  remot- 
est degree  resembling  the  experiences  of  a  man  of  the  world, 
at  any  rate  those  which  produced  the  sentiments  pervading 
this  novel.  Nevertheless,  this  book  brought  about  a  revolu- 
tion in  my  ideas.  For  the  first  time  I  encountered  in  a  book 
a  chief  character  who  was  not  a  universal  hero,  a  military 
or  naval  hero  whom  one  had  to  admire  and  if  possible  imi- 
tate, but  one  in  whom,  with  extreme  emotion,  I  fancied  that 
I  recognised  myself ! 

I  had  certainly  never  acted  as  Petsjorin  did,  and  never 
been  placed  in  such  situations  as  PetsjfSrin.  No  woman  had 
ever  loved  me,  still  less  had  I  ever  let  a  woman  pay  with  suf- 
fering the  penalty  of  her  affection  for  me.  Never  had  any 
old  friend  of  mine  come  up  to  me,  delighted  to  see  me  again, 
and  been  painfully  reminded,  by  my  coolness  and  indifference, 
how  little  he  counted  for  in  my  life.  Petsjorin  had  done 
with  life;  I  had  not  even  begun  to  live.  Petsjorin  had 
drained  the  cup  of  enjoyment;  I  had  never  tasted  so  much  as 
a  drop  of  it.  Petsjorin  was  as  blase  as  a  splendid  Russian 
Officer  of  the  Guards  could  be;  I,  as  full  of  expectation  as  an 
insignificant  Copenhagen  schoolboy  could  be.  Nevertheless, 
I  had  the  perplexing  feeling  of  having,  for  the  first  time  In 
my  life,  seen  my  Inmost  nature,  hitherto  unknown  even  to  my- 
self, understood.  Interpreted,  reproduced,  magnified.  In  this 
unharmonlous  work  of  the  Russian  poet  who  was  snatched 
away  so  young. 

XX. 

The  first  element  whence  the  imaginary  figure  which  I 
fancied  I  recognized  again  in  Lermontof  had  its  rise  was  doubt- 
lesstobe  found  in  the  relations  between  my  older  friend  and  my- 
self (in  the  reversal  of  our  roles,  and  my  consequent  new  feel- 
ing of  superiority  over  him).  The  essential  point,  however, 
was  not  the  comparatively  accidental  shape  In  which  I  fan- 
cied I  recognised  myself,  but  that  what  was  at  that  time 
termed  reflection  had  awaked  In  me.  Introspection,  self-con- 
sciousness, which  after  all  had  to  awake  some  day,  as  all 


58  REMINISCENCES 

other  Impulses  awake  when  their  time  comes.  This  intro- 
spection was  not,  however,  by  any  means  a  natural  or  per- 
manent quality  In  me,  but  on  the  contrary  one  which  made 
me  feel  111  at  ease  and  which  I  soon  came  to  detest.  During 
these  transitional  years,  as  my  pondering  over  myself  grew, 
1  felt  more  and  more  unhappy  and  less  and  less  sure  of  my- 
self. The  pondering  reached  Its  height,  as  was  Inevitable, 
when  there  arose  the  question  of  choosing  a  profession  and 
of  planning  the  future  rather  than  of  following  a  voca- 
tion. But  as  long  as  this  introspection  lasted,  I  had  a  tor- 
turing feeling  that  my  own  eye  was  watching  me,  as 
though  I  were  a  stranger,  a  feeling  of  being  the  spectator  of 
my  own  actions,  the  auditor  of  my  own  words,  a  double  per- 
sonality who  must  nevertheless  one  day  become  one,  should  I 
live  long  enough.  After  having,  with  a  friend,  paid  a  visit 
to  Kaalund,  who  was  prison  instructor  at  Vridsloselille  at  the 
time  and  showed  us  young  fellows  the  prison  and  the  cells, 
I  used  to  picture  my  condition  to  myself  as  that  of  a  prisoner 
enduring  the  torture  of  seeing  a  watchful  eye  behind  the 
peep-hole  In  the  door.  I  had  noticed  before,  in  the  Malmo 
prison,  how  the  prisoners  tried  to  besmear  this  glass,  or 
scratch  on  it,  with  a  sort  of  fury,  so  that  it  was  often  impos- 
sible to  see  through  it.  My  natural  inclination  was  to  act 
naively,  without  premeditation,  and  to  put  myself  wholly  into 
what  I  was  doing.  The  cleavage  that  introspection  implies, 
therefore,  was  a  horror  to  me;  all  bisection,  all  dualism,  was 
fundamentally  repellent  to  me;  and  It  was  consequently  no 
mere  chance  that  my  first  appearance  as  a  writer  was  made 
in  an  attack  on  a  division  and  duality  in  life's  philos- 
ophy, and  that  the  very  title  of  my  first  book  was  a  branding 
and  rejection  of  a  Dualism.  So  that  It  was  only  when  my 
self-contemplation,  and  with  it  the  inward  cleavage,  had  at 
length  ceased,  that  I  attained  to  quietude  of  mind. 

XXI. 

Thus  violently  absorbing  though  the  mental  condition 
here  suggested  was,  It  was  not  permanent.  It  was  childish  and 
child-like  by  virtue  of  my  years;  the  riper  expressions  which  I 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  rg 

here  make  use  of  to  describe  it  always  seem  on  the  verge  of 
distorting  its  character.  My  faith  in  my  lucky  star  barely  per- 
sisted a  few  years  unassailed.  JMy  childish  idea  had  been 
very  much  strengthened  when,  at  fifteen  years  of  age,  in  the 
first  part  of  my  finishing  examination,  I  received  Distinction 
in  all  my  subjects,  and  received  a  mighty  blow  when,  at  seven- 
teen, I  only  had  Fery  Good  in  five  subjects,  thus  barely  secur- 
ing Distinction  for  the  whole. 

I  ceased  to  preoccupy  myself  about  my  likeness  to  Pets- 
jorin,  after  having  recovered  from  a  half,  or  quarter,  falling 
in  love,  an  unharmonious  affair,  barren  of  results,  which  1 
had  hashed  up  for  myself  through  fanciful  and  affected  rev- 
erie, and  which  made  me  realise  the  fundamental  simplicity  of 
my  own  nature, — and  I  then  shook  off  the  unnatural  physiog- 
nomy like  a  mask.  Belief  in  my  own  unbounded  superiority 
and  the  absolutely  unmeasured  ambition  in  which  this  belief 
had  vented  itself,  collapsed  suddenly  when  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  feeling  my  way  independently  for  the  first  time,  and 
mcr.Lally  testing  people,  I  learnt  to  recognise  the  real  mental 
superiority  great  waiters  possess.  It  was  chiefly  my  first 
reading  of  the  principal  w^orks  of  Kierkegaard  that  marked 
this  epoch  in  my  life.  I  felt,  face  to  face  with  the  first  great 
mind  that,  as  it  were,  had  personally  confronted  me,  all  my 
real  insignificance,  understood  all  at  once  that  I  had  as  yet 
neither  lived  nor  suffered,  felt  nor  thought,  and  that  nothing 
was  more  uncertain  than  whether  I  might  one  day  evince  tal- 
ent. The  one  certain  thing  was  that  my  present  status  seemed 
to  amount  to  nothing  at  all. 

XXII. 

In  those  boyhood's  years,  however,  I  revelled  in  Ideas 
of  greatness  to  come  which  had  not  so  far  received  a  shock. 
And  I  was  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  domain  in  which  when  grown 
up  I  should  distinguish  myself.  All  my  instincts  drew  me 
towards  Literature.  The  Danish  compositions  which  were 
set  at  school  absorbed  all  my  thoughts  from  week  to  week; 
I  took  the  greatest  pains  with  them,  weighed  the  questions 
from  as  many  sides  as  I  could  and  endeavoured  to  give  good 


6o  REMINISCENCES 

form  and  style  to  my  compositions.  Unconsciously  I  tried 
to  find  expressions  containing  striking  contrasts;  I  sought 
after  descriptive  words  and  euphonious  constructions.  Al- 
though not  acquainted  with  the  word  style  in  any  other  sense 
than  that  it  bears  in  the  expression  "  style-book,"  the  Danish 
equivalent  for  what  in  English  is  termed  an  "  exercise-book," 
I  tried  to  acquire  a  certain  style,  and  was  very  near  falling 
into  mannerism,  from  sheer  inexperience,  when  a  sarcastic 
master,  to  my  distress,  reminded  me  one  day  of  Heiberg's 
words:  "  The  unguent  of  expression,  smeared  thickly  over 
the  thinness  of  thoughts." 

XXIII. 

Together  with  a  practical  training  In  the  use  of  the  lan- 
guage, the  Danish  lessons  afforded  a  presentment  of  the  his- 
tory of  our  national  literature,  given  intelligently  and  in  a 
very  instructive  manner  by  a  master  named  Driebein,  who, 
though  undoubtedly  one  of  the  many  Heibergians  of  the  time, 
did  not  in  any  way  deviate  from  what  might  be  termed  the 
orthodoxy  of  literary  history.  Protestantism  carried  it  against 
Roman  Catholicism,  the  young  Oehlenschliiger  against  Bag- 
gesen,  Romanticism  against  Rationalism;  Oehlenschlager  as 
the  Northern  poet  of  human  nature  against  a  certain  Bjorn- 
son,  who,  It  was  said,  claimed  to  be  more  truly  Norse  than 
he.  In  Mr.  Driebeln's  presentment,  no  recognised  great 
name  was  ever  attacked.  And  in  his  course,  as  In  Thortsen's 
History  of  Literature,  literature  which  might  be  regarded 
as  historic  stopped  with  the  year  1814. 

The  order  In  which  in  my  private  reading  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  Danish  authors  was  as  follows:  Ingemann, 
Oehlenschlager,  Grundtvig,  Poul  Moller,  many  books  by 
these  authors  having  been  given  me  at  Christmas  and  on 
birthdays.  At  my  grandfather's,  I  eagerly  devoured  Hei- 
berg's vaudevilles  as  well.  As  a  child,  of  course,  I  read  un- 
critically, merely  accepting  and  enjoying.  But  when  I  heard 
at  school  of  Baggesen's  treatment  of  Oehlenschlager,  thus 
realising  that  there  had  been  various  tendencies  in  literature 
at  that  time,  and  various  opinions  as  to  which  was  preferable, 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  6l 

I  read  with  enthusiasm  a  volume  of  selected  poems  by  Bagge- 
sen,  which  I  had  had  one  Christmas,  and  the  treatment  of 
language  in  it  fascinated  me  exceedingly,  with  its  gracefulness 
and  light,  conversational  tone.  Then,  when  Hertz's^  Ghost 
Letters  fell  into  my  hands  one  day,  and  the  diction  of  them 
appealed  to  me  almost  more,  1  felt  myself,  first  secretly, 
afterwards  more  consciously,  drawn  towards  the  school 
of  form  in  Danish  literature,  and  rather  enjoyed  being 
a  heretic  on  this  point.  For  to  entertain  kindly  senti- 
ments for  the  man  who  had  dared  to  profane  Oehlen- 
schlager  was  like  siding  with  Loki  against  Thor.  Poul 
Moller's  Collected  Works  I  had  received  at  my  confirmation, 
and  read  again  and  again  with  such  enthusiasm  that  I  almost 
wore  the  pages  out,  and  did  not  skip  a  line,  even  of  the  philo- 
sophical parts,  which  I  did  not  understand  at  all.  But 
Hertz's  Lyrical  Poems,  which  I  read  in  a  borrowed  copy, 
gave  me  as  much  pleasure  as  Poul  Moller's  Verses  had  done. 
And  for  a  few  years,  grace  and  charm,  and  the  perfect  con- 
trol of  language  and  poetic  form,  were  in  my  estimation  the 
supreme  thing  until,  on  entering  upon  my  eighteenth  year, 
a  violent  reaction  took  place,  and  resonance,  power  and 
grandeur  alone  seemed  to  have  value.  From  Hertz  my  sym- 
pathies went  over  to  Christian  Winther,  from  Baggesen  to 
Homer,  i^.schylus,  the  Bible,  Shakespeare,  Goethe.  One  of 
the  first  things  I  did  as  a  student  was  to  read  the  Bible  through 
in  Danish  and  the  Odyssey  in  Greek. 

XXIV. 

The  years  of  approaching  maturity  were  still  distant, 
however,  and  my  inner  life  was  personal,  not  real,  so 
that  an  element  of  fermentation  was  cast  into  my  mind 
when  a  copy  of  Heine's  Buck  der  Lieder  was  one  day 
lent  to  me.  What  took  my  fancy  in  it  was,  firstly,  the 
combination   of   enthusiasm   and   wit,   then   its   terse,   pithy 

^Henrik  Hertz,  a  Danish  poet  (1797-1870),  published  "  Gliost  Letters" 
anonymously,  and  called  ihem  thus  because  in  language  and  spirit  they 
were  a  kind  of  continuation  of  the  long-deceased  Bagcresen's  rhymed  contri- 
bution to  a  literarv  dispute  of  his  dav.  Hertz,  like  the  much  greater  Baggesen, 
laid  great  stress  upon  precise  and  elegant  form. — [Translator's  note.] 


62  REMINISCENCES 

form,  and  after  that  the  parts  describing  how  the  poet 
and  his  lady  love,  unable  to  overcome  the  shyness  which 
binds  their  tongues,  invokintarily  play  hide  and  seek  with 
one  another  and  lose  each  other;  for  I  felt  that  I  should 
be  equally  unable  to  find  natural  and  simple  expression  for  my 
feelings,  should  things  ever  come  to  such  a  pass  with  me.  Of 
Heine's  personality,  of  the  poet's  historic  position,  political 
tendencies  or  importance,  I  knew  nothing;  in  these  love-poems 
I  looked  more  especially  for  those  verses  in  which  violent 
self-esteem  and  blase  superiority  to  every  situation  find  ex- 
pression, because  this  fell  in  with  the  Petsjorin  note,  which, 
since  reading  Lermontof's  novel,  was  the  dominant  one  in  my 
mind.  As  was  my  habit  in  those  years,  when  it  was  still  out 
of  the  question  for  me  to  buy  books  that  pleased  me,  I  copied 
out  of  the  Buck  der  L'teder  all  that  I  liked  best,  that  I  might 
read  it  again. 

XXV. 

Of  all  this  life  of  artistic  desire  and  seeking,  of  external 
impressions,  welcomed  with  all  the  freshness  and  impulsive- 
ness of  a  boy's  mind,  but  most  of  self-study  and  self-dis- 
covery, the  elder  of  the  two  comrades  was  a  most  attentive 
spectator,  more  than  a  spectator.  He  made  use  of  expres- 
sions and  said  things  which  rose  to  my  head  and  made  me 
conceited.  Sebastian  would  make  such  a  remark  as:  "It  is 
not  for  your  abilities  that  I  appreciate  you,  it  is  for  your  en- 
thusiasm. All  other  people  I  know  are  machines  without 
souls,  at  their  best  full  of  affected,  set  phrases,  such  as  one 
who  has  peeped  behind  the  scenes  laughs  at;  but  in  you  there 
is  a  fulness  of  ideality  too  great  for  you  ever  to  be  happy." 
"  Fulness  of  ideality  "  was  the  expression  of  the  time  for  the 
supremest  quality  of  intellectual  equipment.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  I  felt  flattered. 

And  my  older  comrade  united  a  perception  of  my  men- 
tal condition,  which  unerringly  perceived  its  immaturity,  with 
a  steadfast  faith  in  a  future  for  me  which  in  spite  of  my  arro- 
gance, I  thirsted  to  find  in  the  one  of  all  others  who  knew  me 
best  and  was  most  plainly  my  superior  in  knowledge.  One 
day,  when  I  had  informed  him  that  I  felt  "  more  mature  and 


BOYHOOD'S   YEARS  63 

clearer  about  myself,"  he  replied,  without  a  trace  of  indeci- 
sion, that  this  was  undoubtedly  a  very  good  thing,  if  it  were 
true,  but  that  he  suspected  I  was  laboring  under  a  delu- 
sion. '*  I  am  none  the  less  convinced,"  he  added,  "  that  you 
will  soon  reach  a  crisis,  will  overcome  all  obstacles  and  attain 
the  nowadays  almost  giant's  goal  that  you  have  set  before 
you."  This  goal,  for  that  matter,  was  very  indefinite,  and 
was  to  the  general  effect  that  I  intended  to  make  myself 
strongly  felt,  and  bring  about  great  changes  in  the  intellectual 
world;  of  what  kind,  was  uncertain. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  time  drew  near  for  us  to  enter  the 
University,  and  I  approached  the  years  of  manhood  which 
the  other,  in  spite  of  his  modest  position  as  schoolboy,  had 
already  long  attained,  Sebastian  grew  utterly  miserable.  He 
had,  as  he  expressed  it,  made  up  his  mind  to  be  my  Melanch- 
tho7i.  But  through  an  inward  collapse  which  I  could 
not  understand  he  now  felt  that  the  time  in  which  he 
could  be  anything  to  me  had  gone  by;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  neglected  to  acquire  the  knowledge  and  the  education 
necessary,  and  he  reproached  himself  bitterly.  *'  I  have  not 
been  in  the  least  what  I  might  have  been  to  you,"  he  ex- 
claimed one  day,  and  without  betraying  it  he  endured  tor- 
ments of  jealousy,  and  thought  with  vexation  and  anxiety  of 
the  time  when  a  larger  circle  would  be  opened  to  me  in  the 
University,  and  he  himself  would  become  superfluous. 

His  fear  was  thus  far  unfounded,  that,  naive  in  my  sel- 
fishness, as  in  my  reliance  on  him,  I  still  continued  to  tell  him 
everything,  and  in  return  constantly  sought  his  help  when 
philological  or  mathematical  difficulties  which  I  could  not 
solve  alone  presented  themselves  to  me. 

But  I  had  scarcely  returned  to  Copenhagen,  after  my 
first  journey  abroad  (a  very  enjoyable  four  weeks'  visit  to 
Goteborg),  I  had  scarcely  been  a  month  a  freshman,  attend- 
ing philosophical  lectures  and  taking  part  in  student  life  than 
the  dreaded  separation  between  us  two  so  differently  con- 
stituted friends  came  to  pass.  The  provocation  was  tri- 
fling, in  fact  paltry.  One  day  I  was  standing  in  the  lecture- 
room  with  a  few  fellow-students  before  a  lecture  began,  when 
a  freshman  hurried  up  to  us  and  asked :  "  Is  it  true,  what 


64  REMINISCENCES 

Sebastian  says,  that  he  is  the  person  you  think  most  of  in  the 
world?"  My  reply  was:  "Did  he  say  that  himself?" 
"  Yes."  And,  disgusted  that  the  other  should  have  made 
such  a  remark  in  order  to  impress  perfect  strangers,  though 
it  might  certainly  very  easily  have  escaped  him  in  confidence, 
I  said  hastily:  "  Oh!  he's  mad!  "  which  outburst,  bearing  in 
mind  young  people's  use  of  the  word  "  mad,"  was  decidedly 
not  to  be  taken  literally,  but  was,  it  is  quite  true,  ill-naturedly 
meant. 

The  same  evening  I  received  a  short  note  from  Sebastian 
in  which,  though  in  polite  terms,  he  repudiated  his  allegiance 
and  fidelity;  the  letter,  in  which  the  polite  form  you  was  used 
instead  of  the  accustomed  thou,  was  signed:  "  Your  '  mad  ' 
and  '  foolish,'  but  respectful  Sebastian." 

The  impression  this  produced  upon  me  was  exceedingly 
painful,  but  an  early  developed  mental  habit  of  always  accept- 
ing a  decision,  and  a  vehement  repugnance  to  renew  any 
connection  deliberately  severed  by  another  party,  resulted 
in  my  never  even  for  a  moment  thinking  of  shaking  his 
resolution,  and  in  my  leaving  the  note  unanswered.  How- 
ever, the  matter  was  not  done  with,  and  the  next  few  months 
brought  me  many  insufferable  moments,  indeed  hours,  for 
Sebastian,  whose  existence  had  for  so  long  centred  round 
mine  that  he  was  evidently  incapable  of  doing  without  me 
altogether,  continually  crossed  my  path,  planted  himself  near 
me  on  every  possible  occasion,  and  one  evening,  at  a  students' 
gathering,  even  got  a  chair  outside  the  row  round  the  table, 
sat  himself  down  just  opposite  to  me,  and  spent  a  great  part 
of  the  evening  In  staring  fixedly  Into  my  face.  As  may  be 
supposed,  I  felt  exceedingly  Irritated. 

Three  months  passed,  when  one  day  I  received  a  letter 
from  Sebastian,  and  z':  Intervals  of  weeks  or  months  several 
others  followed.  They  were  impressive  letters,  splendidly 
written,  with  a  sort  of  grim  humour  about  them,  expressing 
his  passionate  affection  and  venting  his  despair.  This  was 
the  first  time  that  I  had  come  in  contact  with  passion,  but  it 
was  a  passion  that  without  having  any  unnatural  or  sensual 
element  In  It,  nevertheless,  from  a  person  of  the  same  sex, 
excited  a  feeling  of  displeasure,  and  even  disgust,  in  me. 


BOYHOOD'S    YEARS  65 

Sebastian  wrote:  "  I  felt  that  It  was  cheating  you  to 
take  so  much  without  being  able  to  give  you  anything  in  re- 
turn; I  thought  it  mean  to  associate  with  you;  consequently,  I 
believe  that  I  did  perfectly  right  to  break  with  you.  Still, 
it  is  true  that  I  hardly  needed  to  do  it.  Time  and  circum- 
stances would  have  effected  the  breach."  And  feeling  that 
our  ways  were  now  divided,  he  continued: 

Hie  locus  est,  partes  ubi  se  via  findit  in  ambas. 
Dextera,  quae  Ditis  magni  sub  moenia  tendit, 
Hac  iter  Iilysium  nobis;   at  lasva  malorum 
Exercet  poenas  et  ad  impia  Tartara  mittit. 

"  I  cannot  kill  myself  at  present,  but  as  soon  as  I  feel  able  I 
shall  do  so." 

Or  he  wrote :  "  Towards  the  end  of  the  time  when  we 
were  friends,  I  was  not  quite  myself  when  talking  to  you ;  I 
was  unbalanced;  for  I  was  convinced  that  you  wasted  your 
valuable  time  talking  to  me,  and  at  the  same  time  was  op- 
pressed with  grief  at  the  thought  that  we  must  part.  Then 
I  tried  to  make  you  angry  by  pretending  to  question  your  abil- 
ities, by  affecting  indifference  and  scorn;  but  It  was  the  dog 
baying  at  the  moon.  I  had  to  bring  about  the  severance  that 
I  did.  That  I  should  be  so  childish  as  to  be  vexed  about  a 
slight  from  you,  you  cannot  yourself  believe.  I  cannot  really 
regret  it,  for  I  could  no  longer  be  of  use  to  you ;  you  doubtless 
think  the  same  yourself;  but  I  cannot  do  without  you;  my 
affection  for  you  is  the  only  vital  thing  in  me;  your  life 
throbbed  in  mine." 

Sometimes  the  letters  ended  with  an  outburst  of  a  sort 
of  despairing  humour,  such  as:  "  Vale!  fFanfare!  somer- 
saults by  Pagllaccio.) "  But  whether  Sebastian  assumed  a  se- 
rious or  a  desperate  tone,  the  renewal  of  our  old  companion- 
ship was  equally  impossible  to  me.  I  could  not  ignore  what 
had  happened,  and  I  could  not  have  a  friend  who  was  jeal- 
ous if  I  talked  to  others.  Since  my  Intellectual  entity  had 
awakened,  all  jealousy  had  been  an  abomination  to  me,  but 
jealousy  in  one  man  of  another  man  positively  revolted  me. 
I  recognised  Sebastian's  great  merits,  respected  his  character, 
and  admired  his  wide  range  of  knowledge,  but  I  could  not  as- 


66  REMINISCENCES 

sociate  with  him  again,  could  not  even  so  much  as  walk  down 
the  street  by  his  side.  All  his  affectionate  and  beautiful  let- 
ters glanced  off  ineffectual  from  this  repugnance.  Something 
In  me  had  suddenly  turned  stony,  like  a  plant  plunged  in  pet- 
rifying water. 

Six  years  passed  before  we  saw  each  other  again.  We 
met  then  with  simple  and  sincere  affection.  Sebastian's  old 
passion  had  evaporated  without  leaving  a  trace;  he  himself 
could  no  longer  understand  it.  And,  though  far  apart,  and 
with  nothing  to  connect  us  closely,  we  continued  to  think 
kindly  of  one  another  and  to  exchange  reflections,  until,  after 
a  few  years.  Death  carried  him  away,  ere  he  had  reached  the 
years  of  real  manhood,  or  fulfilled  any  of  the  promises  of 
his  gifted  and  industrious  youth. 


TRANSITIONAL  YEARS 

Schoolboy  Fancies — Religion — Early  Friends — Daemonic  Theory — A  West 
Indian  Friend — My  Acquaintance  Widens — Politics — The  Reactionary 
Party — The  David  Family — A  Student  Society — An  Excursion  to  Sle«vig 
— Temperament — The  Law — Hegel — Spinoza — Love  for  Humanity — A 
Religious    Crisis — Doubt — Personal    Immortality — Renunciation. 

I. 

MY  second  schoolboy  fancy  dated  from  my  last  few 
months  at  school.  It  was  a  natural  enough  out- 
come of  the  attraction  towards  the  other  sex  which, 
never  yet  encouraged,  was  lurking  in  my  mind;  but  It  was  not 
otherwise  remarkable  for  its  naturalness.  It  had  its  origin 
partly  in  my  love  of  adventure,  partly  in  my  propensity 
for  trying  my  powers,  but,  as  love,  was  without  root, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  rooted  neither  in  my  heart  nor  in  my 
senses. 

The  object  of  it  was  again  a  girl  from  another  country. 
Her  name  and  person  had  been  well  known  to  me  since  I  was 
twelve  years  old.  We  had  even  exchanged  compliments,  been 
curious  about  one  another,  gone  so  far  as  to  wish  for  a  lock 
of  each  other's  hair.  There  was  consequently  a  romantic 
background  to  our  first  meeting.  When  I  heard  that  she  was 
coming  to  Denmark  1  was,  as  by  chance,  on  the  quay,  and 
saw  her  arrive. 

She  was  exactly  the  same  age  as  I,  and,  without  real 
"beauty,  was  very  good-looking  and  had  unusually  lovely 
eyes.  I  endeavoured  to  make  her  acquaintance  through 
relatives  of  hers  whom  I  knew,  and  had  no  difficulty  In  get- 
ting Into  touch  with  her.  An  offer  to  show  her  the  museums 
and  picture  galleries  In  Copenhagen  was  accepted.  Although 
I  had  very  little  time,  just  before  my  matriculation  examina- 
tion, my  new  acquaintance  filled  my  thoughts  to  such  an  extent 

67 


68  REMINISCENCES 

that  I  did  not  care  how  much  of  this  valuable  time  I  sacrificed 
to  her.  In  the  Summer,  when  the  girl  went  out  near  Charlot- 
tenlund,  whereas  my  parents  were  staying  much  nearer  to  the 
town,  I  went  backwards  and  forwards  to  the  woods  nearly 
ev^ery  day,  in  the  uncertain  but  seldom  disappointed 
hope  of  seeing  her.  Sometimes  I  rowed  her  about  in  the 
Sound. 

Simple  and  straightforward  though  the  attraction  I  felt 
might  seem,  the  immature  romance  I  built  up  on  it  was  any- 
thing but  simple. 

It  was,  as  stated,  not  my  senses  that  drew  me  on.  Split 
and  divided  up  as  I  was  just  then,  a  merely  intellectual  love 
seemed  to  me  quite  natural;  one  might  feel  an  attraction  of 
the  senses  for  an  altogether  different  woman.  I  did  not 
wish  for  a  kiss,  much  less  an  embrace;  in  fact,  was  too  much 
a  child  to  think  of  anything  of  the  sort. 

But  neither  was  it  my  heart  that  drew  me  on;  I  felt 
no  tenderness,  hardly  any  real  affection,  for  this  young 
girl  whom  I  was  so  anxious  to  win.  She  only  busied 
my  brain. 

In  the  condition  of  boyish  self-inquisition  in  which  I  then 
found  myself,  this  acquaintance  was  a  fresh  element  of  fer- 
mentation, and  the  strongest  to  which  my  self-examination 
had  hitherto  been  subjected.  I  instinctively  desired  to  en- 
gage her  fancy ;  but  my  attitude  was  from  myself  through  her 
to  myself.  I  wanted  less  to  please  than  to  dominate  her,  and 
as  it  was  only  my  head  that  was  filled  with  her  image,  I  wholly 
lacked  the  voluntary  and  cheerful  self-humiliation  which  is  an 
element  of  real  love.  I  certainly  wished  with  all  my  heart 
to  fascinate  her;  but  what  I  more  particularly  wanted  was 
to  hold  my  own,  to  avoid  submission,  and  retain  my  independ- 
ence.    My  boyish  pride  demanded  it. 

The  young  foreigner,  whose  knowledge  of  the  world  was 
hardly  greater  than  my  own,  had  certainly  never,  during  her 
short  life,  come  in  contact  with  so  extraordinary  a  phenome- 
non; it  afforded  matter  for  reflection.  She  certainly  felt  at- 
tracted, but,  woman-like,  was  on  her  guard.  She  was  of  a 
quiet,  amiable  disposition,  innocently  coquettish,  naturally 
adapted  for  the  advances  of  sound  common  sense  and  affec- 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  69 

donate  good-will,  not  for  the  volts  of  passion;  she  was,  more- 
over, femininely  practical. 

She  saw  at  a  glance  that  this  grown-up  schoolboy,  who 
almost  staggered  her  with  his  eloquence,  his  knowledge,  his 
wild  plans  for  the  future,  was  no  wooer,  and  that  his  advances 
were  not  to  be  taken  too  seriously.  Next,  with  a  woman's  un- 
failing intuition,  she  discovered  his  empty  love  of  power. 
And  first  involuntarily,  and  then  consciously,  she  placed  her- 
self in  an  attitude  of  defence.  She  did  not  lack  intelligence. 
She  showed  a  keen  interest  in  me,  but  met  me  with  the  self- 
control  of  a  little  woman  of  the  world,  now  and  then 
with  coolness,  on  one  occasion  with  well-aimed  shafts  of 
mockery. 

Our  mutual  attitude  might  have  developed  into  a  regular 
war  between  the  sexes,  had  we  not  both  been  half-children. 
Just  as  I,  in  the  midst  of  a  carefully  planned  assault  on  her 
emotions,  occasionally  forgot  myself  altogether  and  betrayed 
the  craving  to  be  near  her  which  drove  me  almost  every  day 
to  her  door,  she  also  would  at  times  lose  the  equilibrium  she 
had  struggled  for,  and  feverishly  reveal  her  agitated  state  of 
mind.  But  Immediately  afterwards  I  was  again  at  the 
assault,  she  once  more  on  the  alert,  and  after  the  lapse  of 
four  months  our  ways  eparated,  without  a  kiss,  or  one  simple, 
affectionate  word,  ever  having  passed  between  us. 

In  my  morbid  self-duplication,  I  had  been  busy  all  this 
time  fixing  in  my  memory  and  writing  down  in  a  book  all 
that  I  had  said  to  her  or  she  to  me,  weighing  and  probing  the 
scope  and  effect  of  the  words  that  had  been  uttered,  laying 
plans  for  future  methods  of  advance,  noting  actual  victories 
and  defeats,  pondering  over  this  Inanity,  bending  over  all 
this  abnormality,  like  a  strategist  who,  bending  over  the  map, 
marks  with  his  nail  the  movements  of  troops,  the  carrying  or 
surrender  of  a  fortified  position. 

This  early,  unsatisfactory  and  not  strictly  speaking  erotic 
experience  had  the  remarkable  effect  of  rendering  me  for 
the  next  seven  years  impervious  to  the  tender  passion,  so  that, 
undisturbed  by  women  or  erotic  emotions,  I  was  able  to  absorb 
myself  In  the  world  of  varied  research  that  was  now  opening 
up  to  me. 


70  REMINISCENCES 


II. 


A  school-friend  who  was  keenly  Interested  in  astronomy 
and  had  directed  my  nightly  contemplations  of  the  heavens, 
drew  me,  just  about  this  time,  a  very  good  map  of  the  stars, 
by  the  help  of  which  I  found  those  stars  I  knew  and  extended 
my  knowledge  further. 

The  same  school-friend  sometimes  took  me  to  the  Ob- 
servatory, to  see  old  Professor  d' Arrest — a  refined  and  sa- 
pient man — and  there,  for  the  first  time,  I  saw  the  stellar 
heavens  through   a   telescope.     I   had  learnt  astronomy  at 
school,  but  had  lacked  talent  to  attain  any  real  insight  into  the 
subject     Now  the  constellations  and  certain  of  the  stars  be- 
gan to  creep  into  my  affections;  they  became  the  nightly  wit- 
nesses of  my  joys  and  sorrows,  all  through  my  life;  the  sight 
of  them  sometimes  comforted  me  when  I  felt  lonely  and  for- 
saken in  a  foreign  land.     The  Lyre,  the  Swan,  the  Eagle,  the 
Crown  and  Bootes,  Auriga,  the  Hyades  and  the  Pleiades, 
and  among  the  Winter  constellations,  Orion;  all  these  twink- 
ling groups,  that  human  eyes  have  sought  for  thousands  of 
years,  became  distant  friends  of  mine,  too.    And  the  thoughts 
which  the  sight  of  the  countless  globes  involuntarily  and  inev- 
itably evokes,  were  born  in  me,  too, — thoughts  of  the  little- 
ness of  the  earth  in  our  Solar  System,  and  of  our  Solar  Sys- 
tem in  the  Universe,  of  immeasurable  distances — so  great 
that  the  stars  whose  rays,  with  the  rapidity  of  light's  travel- 
ling, are  striking  against  our  eyes  now,  may  have  gone  out  in 
our  childhood;  of  immeasurable  periods  of  time,  in  which  a 
human  life,  or  even  the  lifetime  of  a  whole  people,  disap- 
pears like  a  drop  in  the  ocean.    And  whereas  at  school  I  had 
only  studied  astronomy  as  a  subject,  from  its  mathematical 
aspect,   I  now  learnt  the  results  of  spectroscopic  analysis, 
which  showed  me  how  the  human  genius  of  Bunsen  and 
KIrchhoff  had  annihilated  the  distance  between  the  Earth  and 
the  Sun ;  and  at  the  same  time  I  perceived  the  inherent  Im- 
probability of  the  culture  of  our  Earth  ever  being  transmitted 
to  other  worlds,  even  as  the  Earth  had  never  yet  received 
communications  from  the  civilisation  of  any  of  the  stars. 

This  circumstance,  combined  with  the  certainty  of  the 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  71 

gradual  cooling  and  eventual  death  of  the  Earth,  gave  me  a 
conclusive  impression  of  the  finality  of  all  earthly  existence 
and  of  the  merely  temporary  character  of  all  progress. 

Feeling  that  all  religions  built  up  on  a  belief  in  a  God 
were  collapsing,  Europe  had  long  inclined  towards  the  re- 
ligion of  Progress  as  the  last  tenable.  Now  I  perceived  as  I 
raised  my  eyes  to  the  starry  expanse  and  rejoiced  in  my  fa- 
vourite stars,  Sirius  in  the  Great  Dog,  and  Vega  in  the  Lyre 
or  Altair  in  the  Eagle,  that  it,  too,  was  tottering,  this  last 
religion  of  all. 

III. 

At  school,  I  had  known  a  score  of  boys  of  my  own  age, 
and  naturally  found  few  amongst  them  who  could  be  any- 
thing to  me.  Among  the  advantages  that  the  freedom  of 
student  life  afforded  was  that  of  coming  in  contact  all 
at  once  with  hundreds  of  similarly  educated  young  men 
of  one's  own  age.  Young  men  made  each  other's  acquaint- 
ance at  lectures  and  banquets,  were  drawn  to  one  another,  or 
felt  themselves  repulsed,  and  elective  affinity  or  accident  asso- 
ciated them  in  pairs  or  groups  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period. 

A  young  fellow  whose  main  passion  was  a  desire  for  in- 
tellectual enrichment  was  necessarily  obliged  to  associate  with 
many  of  the  other  young  men  of  his  own  age,  in  order  to 
learn  to  know  them,  in  order,  externally  and  internally,  to 
gain  as  much  experience  as  possible  and  thereby  develop 
himself. 

In  the  case  of  many  of  them,  a  few  conversations  were 
enough  to  prove  that  any  fruitful  intimacy  was  out  of  the 
question.  I  came  into  fleeting  contact  with  a  number  of 
suave,  or  cold,  or  too  ordinary  young  students,  without  their 
natures  affecting  mine  or  mine  theirs.  But  there  were  others 
who,  for  some  months,  engaged  my  attention  to  a  consider- 
able extent. 

The  first  of  these  was  a  type  of  the  student  of  the  time. 
Vilsing  was  from  Jutland,  tall,  dark,  neither  handsome  nor 
plain,  remarkable  for  his  unparalleled  facility  in  speaking. 
He  owed  his  universal  popularity  to  the  fact  that  at  students' 
parties  he  could  at  any  time  stand  up  and  rattle  off  at  a  furi- 


y2  REMINISCENCES 

ous  rate  an  apparently  unprepared  speech,  a  sort  of  stump 
speech  In  which  humorous  perversions,  distortions,  lyric  re- 
marks, clever  back-handed  blows  to  right  and  left,  astonish- 
ing incursions  and  rapid  sorties,  were  woven  into  a  whole 
so  good  that  it  was  an  entertaining  challenge  to  common 
sense. 

The  starting  point,  for  Instance,  might  be  some  travesty 
of  SIbbem's  whimsical  definition  of  life,  which  at  that  time 
we  all  had  to  learn  by  heart  for  the  examination.     It  ran: 

"  Life  altogether  is  an  activity  and  active  process,  procecling  from  an 
inner  source  and  working  itself  out  according  to  an  inner  impulse,  pro- 
ducing and  by  an  eternal  change  of  matter,  reproducing,  organising  and 
individualising,  and,  since  it  by  a  certain  material  or  substratum  constitutes 
itself  a  certain  exterior,  within  which  it  reveals  itself,  it  simultaneously 
constitutes  itself  as  the  subsisting  activity  and  endeavour  in  this,  its  exterior, 
of  which  it  may  further  be  inquired  how  far  a  soul  can  be  said  to  live  and 
subsist  in  it,   as  a   living  entity  appearing  in  such  a   life." 

It  is  not  difficult  to  conceive  what  delightful  nonsense 
this  barbaric  elucidation  might  suggest,  If  a  carouse,  or  love, 
woman  or  drunkenness  were  defined  In  this  vein ;  and  he 
would  weave  in  amusing  attacks  on  earlier,  less  intrepid 
speakers,  who,  as  Vilsing  put  it,  reminded  one  of  the  bash- 
ful forget-me-not.  Inasmuch  as  you  could  read  in  the 
play  of  their  features:  "Forget  me  not!  I,  too,  was  an 
orator." 

Vilsing,  who  had  been  studying  for  some  years  already, 
paid  a  freshman  a  compliment  by  desiring  his  acquaintance 
and  seeking  his  society.  He  frequented  the  Students'  Union, 
was  on  terms  of  friendship  with  those  who  led  the  fashion, 
and  was  a  favourite  speaker.  It  was  a  species  of  condescen- 
sion on  his  part  to  seek  out  a  young  fellow  just  escaped  from 
school,  a  fellow  who  would  have  sunk  into  the  earth  If  he  had 
had  to  make  a  speech,  and  who  had  no  connection  with  the 
circle  of  older  students. 

Vilsing  was  a  young  man  of  moods,  who,  like  many  at 
that  time,  like  Albrecht,  the  chief  character  in  Schandorph's^ 
Without  a   Centre,    would    exhibit    all    the    colours   of   the 

^Sophus  Schandorph,  b.  1820,  d.  1901;  a  prominent  Danish  novelist,  who 
commenced  his  literary  activity  in  the  sixties. — [Translator's  note.] 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  73 

rainbow  in  one  morning.  He  would  give  himself,  and  take 
himself  back,  show  himself  affectionate,  cordial,  intimate, 
confidential,  full  of  affectionate  anxiety  for  me  his  young 
friend,  and  at  the  next  meeting  be  as  cursory  and  cool  as 
If  he  scarcely  remembered  having  seen  me  before;  for  he 
would  in  the  meantime  have  been  attacked  by  vexation  at  his 
too  great  friendliness,  and  wish  to  assert  himself,  as  know- 
ing his  own  value. 

He  impressed  me,  his  junior,  by  revealing  himself,  not 
precisely  as  a  man  of  the  world,  but  as  a  much  sought  after 
society  man.  He  told  me  how  much  he  was  asked  out,  and 
how  he  went  from  one  party  and  one  ball  to  another,  which, 
to  me,  with  my  hankering  after  experiences,  seemed  to  be  an 
enviable  thing.  But  I  was  more  struck  by  what  Vilslng  told 
me  of  the  favour  he  enjoyed  with  the  other  sex.  One  girl — • 
a  charming  girl ! — he  was  engaged  to,  another  loved  him  and 
he  her;  but  those  were  the  least  of  his  erotic  triumphs;  wher- 
ever he  showed  himself,  he  conquered.  And  proofs  were  to 
hand.  For  one  day,  when  he  had  dragged  me  up  to  his 
room  with  him,  he  bewildered  me  by  shaking  out  before  my 
eyes  a  profusion  of  embroidered  sofa-cushions,  fancy  pillows, 
cigar-cases,  match-holders,  crocheted  purses,  worked  waist- 
coats, etc. ;  presents  from  every  description  of  person  of  the 
feminine  gender.  In  every  drawer  he  pulled  out  there 
were  presents  of  the  sort;  they  hung  over  chairs  and 
on  pegs. 

I  was  young  enough  to  feel  a  certain  respect  for  a  man 
so  sought  after  by  the  fair  sex,  although  I  thought  his  frank- 
ness too  great.  What  first  began  to  undermine  this  feeling 
was  not  doubt  of  the  truth  of  his  tales,  or  the  genuineness 
of  the  gifts,  but  the  fact  that  one  after  another  of  my  com- 
rades, when  the  first  cool  stages  of  acquaintance  were  passed. 
Invariably  found  a  favourable  opportunity  of  confidentially 
Informing  me — he  could  not  explain  why  it  was  himself,  but 
It  was  a  fact — that  wherever  he  showed  himself  women  were 
singularly  fascinated  by  the  sight  of  him ;  there  must  be  some- 
thing about  him  which  vanquished  them  in  spite  of  him. 
When  at  last  one  evening  the  most  round-backed  of  all  of 
them,  a  swain  whose  blond  mustache,  of  irregular  growth, 


74  REMINISCENCES 

resembled  an  old,  worn-out  toothbrush  more  than  anything 
else,  also  confided  in  me  that  he  did  not  know  how  it  was, 
or  what  could  really  be  the  cause  of  it,  but  there  must  be 
something  about  him,  etc., — then  my  belief  in  Vilsing's  singu- 
larity and  my  admiration  for  him  broke  down. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Vilsing  regarded  himself 
as  a  sensual  fiend.  He  did  not  pose  as  cold  and  impudent, 
but  as  heartfelt  and  instinct  with  feeling.  He  was  studying 
theology,  and  cherished  no  dearer  wish  than  eventually  to 
become  a  priest.  He  constantly  alternated  between  contri- 
tion and  self-satisfaction,  arrogance  and  repentance,  enjoyed 
the  consciousness  of  being  exceptionally  clever,  an  irresist- 
ible charmer,  and  a  true  Christian.  It  seemed  to  him  that, 
in  the  freshman  whom  he  had  singled  out  from  the  crowd 
and  given  a  place  at  his  side,  he  had  found  an  intellectual 
equal,  or  even  superior,  and  this  attracted  him;  he  met  with 
in  me  an  inexperience  and  unworldliness  so  great  that  the  in- 
feriority in  ability  which  he  declared  he  perceived  was  more 
than  counterbalanced  by  the  superiority  he  himself  had  the 
advantage  of,  both  in  social  accomplishments  and  in  dealing 
with  women. 

It  thus  seemed  as  though  many  of  the  essential  condi- 
tions of  a  tolerably  permanent  union  between  us  were  present. 
But  during  the  first  conversation  in  which  he  deigned  to  be 
Interested  in  my  views,  there  occurred  in  our  friendship  a 
little  rift  which  widened  to  a  chasm.  Vilsing  sprang  back 
horrified  when  he  heard  how  I,  greenhorn  though  I  was,  re- 
garded life  and  men  and  what  I  considered  right.  "  You  are 
in  the  clutches  of  Evil,  and  your  desire  is  towards  the  Evil.  I 
have  not  time  or  inclination  to  unfold  an  entire  Christology 
now,  but  what  you  reject  is  the  Ideal,  and  what  you  appraise 
is  the  Devil  himself.  God!  God!  How  distressed  I  am 
for  you!  I  would  give  my  life  to  save  you.  But  enough 
about  It  for  the  present;  I  have  not  time  just  now;  I  have  to 
go  out  to  dinner." 

This  was  our  last  serious  conversation.  I  was  not 
saved.  He  did  not  give  his  life.  He  went  for  a  vacation 
tour  the  following  Summer  holidays,  avoided  me  on  his  re- 
turn, and  soon  we  saw  no  more  of  each  other. 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  75 

IV. 

The  theory,  the  intimation  of  which  roused  Vilsing 
to  such  a  degree,  bore  in  its  form  witness  to  such  Immaturity 
that  It  could  only  have  made  an  impression  on  a  youth  whose 
Immaturity,  in  spite  of  his  age,  was  greater  still.  To  present 
It  with  any  degree  of  clearness  Is  scarcely  possible;  It  was  not 
sufficiently  clear  in  itself  for  that.  But  this  was  about  what 
It  amounted  to: 

The  Introspection  and  energetic  self-absorption  to  which 
I  had  given  myself  up  during  my  last  few  years  at  school 
became  even  more  persistent  on  my  release  from  the  restraint 
of  school  and  my  free  admission  to  the  society  of  grown-up 
people. 

I  took  advantage  of  my  spare  time  in  Copenhagen, 
and  on  the  restricted  travels  that  I  was  allowed  to  take,  to 
slake  my  passionate  thirst  for  life;  firstly,  by  pondering  ever 
and  anon  over  past  sensations,  and  secondly,  by  plunging  into 
eager  and  careful  reading  of  the  light  literature  of  all  dif- 
ferent countries  and  periods  that  I  had  heard  about,  but  did 
not  yet  myself  know  at  first  hand. 

Through  all  that  I  experienced  and  read,  observed  and 
made  my  own,  my  attitude  towards  myself  was,  that  before 
all,  T  sought  to  become  clear  as  to  what  manner  of  man 
I  really,  in  my  inmost  being,  was.  I  asked  myself  who  I  was. 
I  endeavoured  to  discover  the  mysterious  word  that  would 
break  the  charm  of  the  mists  in  which  I  found  myself  and 
would  answer  my  fundamental  question,  What  was  I  ?  And 
then  at  last,  my  ponderings  and  my  readings  resulted  In 
my  finding  the  word  that  seemed  to  fit,  nlthough  nowa- 
days one  can  hardly  hear  It  without  a  smile,  the  word 
Damonic. 

I  was  d^moft'ic;  and  in  giving  myself  this  reply  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  solved  the  riddle  of  my  nature.  I  meant 
thereby,  as  I  then  explained  it  to  myself,  that  the  choice 
between  good  and  evil  did  not  present  itself  to  me,  as  to 
others,  since  evil  did  not  Interest  me.  For  me,  it  was  not  a 
question  of  a  choice,  but  of  an  unfolding  of  my  ego,  which 
had  Its  justification  in  itself. 


76  REMINISCENCES 

That  which  I  called  the  damonic  I  had  encountered  for 
the  first  time  outside  my  own  mind  in  Lermontof's  hero. 
Petsjorin  was  compelled  to  act  in  pursuance  of  his  natural 
bent,  as  though  possessed  by  his  own  being.  I  felt  myself  in 
a  similar  manner  possessed.  I  had  met  with  the  word  Dai- 
vion  and  Daimones  in  Plato;  Socrates  urges  that  by  damons 
the  Gods,  or  the  children  of  the  Gods,  were  meant.  I  felt 
as  though  I,  too,  were  one  of  the  children  of  the  Gods.  In 
all  the  great  legendary  figures  of  the  middle  ages  I  detected 
the  feature  of  divine  possession,  especially  in  the  two  who 
had  completely  fascinated  the  poets  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
Don  Juan  and  Faust.  The  first  was  the  symbol  of  magic 
power  over  women,  the  second  of  the  thirst  for  knowledge 
giving  dominion  over  humanity  and  Nature.  Among  my 
comrades,  in  Vilsing,  even  in  the  hunch-backed  fellow  with 
the  unsuccessful  moustache,  I  had  seen  how  the  Don  Juan 
type  which  had  turned  their  heads  still  held  sway  over  the 
minds  of  young  people;  I  myself  could  quite  well  understand 
the  magic  which  this  beautiful  ideal  of  elementary  irresistibil- 
ity must  have;  but  the  Faust  type  appealed  to  me,  with  my 
thirst  for  knowledge,  very  much  more.  Still,  the  main  thing 
for  me  was  that  in  the  first  great  and  wholly  modern  poets 
that  I  made  acquaintance  with,  Byron  and  his  intellectual  suc- 
cessors, Lormontof  and  Heine,  I  recognised  agaia  the  very 
fundamental  trait  that  I  termed  damouic^  the  worship  of 
one's  own  originahty,  under  the  guise  of  an  uncompromising 
love  of  liberty. 

I  was  always  brooding  over  this  idea  of  the  damonic 
with  which  my  mind  was  filled.  I  recorded  my  thoughts  on 
the  subject  in  my  first  long  essay  (lost,  for  that  matter),  On 
the  Damonic,  as  it  Reveals  Itself  in  the  Human  Char- 
acter. 

When  a  shrewdly  intelligent  young  fellow  of  my  own 
age  criticised  my  work  from  the  assumption  that  the  damonic 
did  not  exist,  I  thought  him  ridiculous.  I  little  dreamt  that 
twenty-five  years  later  Relling,  in  The  JVild  Duck,  would 
show  himself  to  be  on  my  friend's  side  in  the  emphatic 
words:  "  What  the  Devil  does  it  mean  to  be  dsemonic!  It's 
sheer  nonsense." 


TRANSITIONAL  YEARS  yy 

V. 

The  "  daemonic  "  was  also  responsible  for  the  mingled 
attraction  that  was  exerted  over  me  at  this  point  by  a  young 
foreign  student,  and  for  the  intercourse  which  ensued  between 
us.  Kappers  was  born  somewhere  in  the  West  Indies,  was 
the  son  of  a  well-to-do  German  manufacturer,  and  had  been 
brought  up  in  a  North  German  town.  His  father,  for  what 
reason  I  do  not  know,  wished  him  to  study  at  Copenhagen 
University,  and  there  take  his  law  examination.  There  was 
coloured  blood  in  his  veins,  though  much  diluted,  maybe 
an  eighth  or  so.  He  was  tall  and  slender,  somewhat 
loose  in  his  walk  and  bearing,  pale-complexioned,  with 
dark  eyes  and  negro  hair.  His  face,  though  not  hand- 
some, looked  exceedingly  clever,  and  its  expression  was 
not  deceptive,  for  the  young  man  had  an  astonishing 
intellect. 

He  was  placed  in  the  house  of  a  highly  respected  family 
in  Copenhagen,  that  of  a  prominent  scientist,  a  good-natured, 
unpractical  savant,  very  unsuited  to  be  the  mentor  of  such  an 
unconventional  young  man.  He  was  conspicuous  among  the 
native  Danish  freshmen  for  his  elegant  dress  and  cosmopoli- 
tan education,  and  was  so  quick  at  learning  that  before  very 
many  weeks  he  spoke  Danish  almost  without  a  mistake, 
though  with  a  marked  foreign  accent,  which,  however,  lent  a 
certain  charm  to  what  he  said.  His  extraordinary  intelli- 
gence was  not  remarkable  either  for  its  comprehensiveness 
or  its  depth,  but  it  was  a  quicker  intelligence  than  any  his 
Copenhagen  fellow-student  had  ever  known,  and  so  keen  that 
he  seemed  born  to  be  a  lawyer. 

Kappers  spent  almost  all  his  day  idling  about  the  streets, 
talking  to  his  companions;  he  was  always  ready  for  a  walk; 
you  never  saw  him  work  or  heard  him  talk  about  his  work. 
Nevertheless,  he,  a  foreigner,  who  had  barely  mastered  the 
language,  presented  himself  after  six  months — before  he  had 
attended  all  the  lectures,  that  is, — for  the  examination  In  phi- 
losophy and  passed  it  with  Distinction  in  all  three  subjects; 
indeed,  Rasmus  Nielsen,  who  examined  him  in  Propaedeutics, 
was  so  delighted  at  the  foreigner's  shrewd  and  ready  answers 


78  REMINISCENCES 

that  he  gave  him  Specially  excellent,  a  mark  which  did  not 
exist. 

His  gifts  in  the  juridical  line  appeared  to  be  equally  re- 
markable. When  he  turned  up  in  a  morning  with  his  Dan- 
ish fellow-students  at  the  coach's  house  it  might  occasionally 
happen  that  he  was  somewhat  tired  and  slack,  but  more  often 
he  showed  a  natural  grasp  of  the  handling  of  legal  questions, 
and  a  consummate  skill  in  bringing  out  every  possible  aspect 
of  each  question,  that  were  astonishing  in  a  beginner. 

His  gifts  were  of  unusual  power,  but  for  the  externali- 
ties of  things  only,  and  he  possessed  just  the  gifts  with  which 
the  sophists  of  old  time  distinguished  themselves.  He  him- 
self was  a  young  sophist,  and  at  the  same  time  a  true  come- 
dian, adapting  his  behaviour  to  whomsoever  he  might  hap- 
pen to  be  addressing,  winning  over  the  person  in  question  by 
striking  his  particular  note  and  showing  that  side  of  his  char- 
acter with  which  he  could  best  please  him.  Endowed  with 
the  capacity  of  mystifying  and  dazzling  those  around  him, 
exceedingly  keen-sighted,  adaptable  but  in  reality  empty,  he 
knew  how  to  set  people  thinking  and  to  fascinate  others  by 
his  lively,  unprejudiced  and  often  paradoxical,  but  entertain- 
ing conversation.  He  was  now  colder,  now  more  confiden- 
tial; he  knew  how  to  assume  cordiality,  and  to  flatter  by  ap- 
pearing to  admire. 

With  a  young  student  like  myself  who  had  just  left 
school,  was  quite  inexperienced  in  all  worldly  matters,  and 
particularly  in  the  chapter  of  women,  but  in  whom  he  de- 
tected good  abilities  and  a  very  strained  idealism,  he  affected 
ascetic  habits.  With  other  companions  he  showed  himself 
the  intensely  reckless  and  dissipated  rich  man's  son  he  was; 
indeed,  he  amused  himself  by  introducing  some  of  the  most 
inoffensive  and  foolish  of  them  into  the  wretched  dens  of  vice 
and  letting  them  indulge  themselves  at  his  expense. 

Intellectually  interested  as  he  was,  he  proposed,  soon 
after  our  first  meeting,  that  we  should  start  a  "  literary  and 
scientific  "  society,  consisting  of  a  very  few  freshmen,  who,  at 
the  weekly  meetings,  should  read  a  paper  one  of  them  had 
composed,  whereupon  two  members  who  had  previously  read 
the  paper  should  each  submit  it  to  a  prepared  criticism  and 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  79 

after  that,  general  discussion  of  the  question.  All  that  con- 
cerned the  proposed  society  was  carried  out  with  a  genuine 
Kappers-like  mystery,  as  if  it  were  a  conspiracy,  and  with 
forms  and  ceremonies  worthy  of  a  diplomat's  action. 

Laws  were  drafted  for  the  society,  although  it  eventu- 
ally consisted  only  of  five  members,  and  elaborate  minutes 
were  kept  of  the  meetings.  Among  the  members  was  V. 
Topsoe,  aftenvards  well  known  as  an  editor  and  author,  at 
that  time  a  cautious  and  impudent  freshman,  whose  motto 
was:  "  It  is  protection  that  we  people  must  live  by."  He 
read  the  society  a  paper  On  the  Appearance,  dealing  with 
how  one  ought  to  dress,  behave,  speak,  do  one's  hair,  which 
revealed  powers  of  observation  and  a  sarcastic  tendency. 
Amongst  those  who  eagerly  sought  for  admission  but  never 
secured  it  was  a  young  student,  handsome,  and  with  no  small 
love  of  study,  but  stupid  and  pushing,  for  whom  I,  who  con- 
tinued to  see  myself  in  Lermontof's  Petsjorin,  cherished  a 
hearty  contempt,  for  the  curious  reason  that  he  in  every  way 
reminded  me  of  Petsjorin's  fatuous  and  conceited  adversary, 
Gruchnitski.  Vilsing  was  asked  to  take  part  in  the  society's 
endeavours,  but  refused.  "  What  I  have  against  all  these 
societies,"  he  said,  "  is  the  self-satisfaction  they  give  rise  to; 
the  only  theme  I  should  be  inclined  to  treat  Is  that  of  how  the 
modern  Don  Juan  must  be  conceived;  but  that  I  cannot  do, 
since  I  should  be  obliged  to  touch  on  so  many  Incidents  of 
my  own  life." 

This  was  the  society  before  which  I  read  the  treatise  on 
The  Damonic,  and  It  was  Kappers  who,  with  his  well-devel- 
oped Intelligence,  would  not  admit  the  existence  of  anything 
of  the  sort. 

The  regular  meetings  went  on  for  six  months  only,  the 
machinery  being  too  large  and  heav^y  in  comparison  with  the 
results  attained.  Kappers  and  his  Intimate  friends,  however, 
saw  none  the  less  of  each  other.  The  brilliant  West 
Indian  continued  to  pursue  his  legal  studies  and  to  carry  on 
his  merry  life  In  Copenhagen  for  some  eighteen  months.  But 
his  studies  gradually  came  to  a  standstill,  while  his  gay  life 
took  up  more  and  more  of  his  time.  He  was  now  living 
alone  In  a  flat  which,  to  begin  with,  had  been  very  elegantly 


8o  REMINISCENCES 

furnished,  but  grew  emptier  and  emptier  by  degrees,  as  his 
furniture  was  sold,  or  went  to  the  pawnbroker's.  His  furni- 
ture was  followed  by  his  books,  and  when  Schou's  "  Orders 
in  Council "  had  also  been  turned  into  money,  his  legal  stud- 
ies ceased  of  themselves.  When  the  bookshelves  were  empty 
it  was  the  turn  of  the  wardrobe  and  the  linen  drawers,  till 
one  Autumn  day  in  1861,  an  emissary  of  his  father,  who 
had  been  sent  to  Copenhagen  to  ascertain  what  the  son  was 
really  about,  found  him  in  his  shirt,  without  coat  or  trousers, 
wrapped  up  In  his  fur  overcoat,  sitting  on  the  floor  in  his 
drawing-room,  where  there  was  not  so  much  as  a  chair  left. 
Asked  how  It  was  that  things  had  come  to  such  a  pass  with 
him,  he  replied:  "  It  is  the  curse  that  follows  the  coloured 
race." 

A  suit  of  clothes  was  redeemed  for  Kappers  junior, 
and  he  was  hurried  away  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  German 
town  where  his  father  lived,  and  where  the  son  explained  to 
everyone  who  would  listen  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  leave 
Copenhagen  suddenly  "  on  account  of  a  duel  with  a  gentle- 
man in  a  very  exalted  position." 

VI. 

My  first  experiences  of  academic  friendship  made  me 
smile  in  after  years  when  I  looked  back  on  them.  But  my 
circle  of  acquaintances  had  gradually  grown  so  large  that  it 
was  only  natural  new  friendships  should  grow  out  of  it. 

One  of  the  members  of  Kappers'  "  literary  and  scien- 
tific "  society,  and  the  one  whom  the  West  Indian  had  genu- 
inely cared  most  for,  was  a  young  fellow  whose  father  was 
very  much  respected,  and  to  whom  attention  was  called  for 
that  reason;  he  was  short,  a  little  heavy  on  his  feet,  and  a 
trifle  Indolent,  had  beautiful  eyes,  was  warm-hearted  and  well 
educated,  had  good  abilities  without  being  specially  original, 
and  was  somewhat  careless  in  his  dress,  as  In  other  things. 

His  father  was  C.  N.  David,  well  known  in  his  younger 
days  as  a  University  professor  and  a  liberal  politician,  who 
later  became  the  Head  of  the  Statistical  Department  and  a 
Member  of  the  Senate.    He  had  been  in  his  youth  a  friend  of 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  8i 

Johan  Ludvlg  Heiberg/  and  had  been  dramatic  contributor 
to  the  latter's  paper. 

He  was  a  very  distinguished  satirist  and  critic  and  his 
inlluence  upon  the  taste  and  critical  opinion  of  his  day  can 
only  be  compared  with  that  of  Holberg  in  the  i8th  century. 

Now,  in  concert  with  Bluhme  and  a  few  other  of  the 
elder  politicians,  he  had  formed  a  Conservative  Fronde,  op- 
posed to  the  policy  of  the  National  Liberals.  One  day  as 
we  two  young  men  were  sitting  in  his  son's  room,  drafting 
the  rules  for  the  freshmen's  society  of  five  members,  the  old 
gentleman  came  through  and  asked  us  what  we  were  writing. 
"  Rules  for  a  society;  we  want  to  get  them  done  as  quickly 
as  we  can."  "That  is  right.  That  kind  of  constitution  may 
very  well  be  written  out  expeditiously.  There  has  not  been 
very  much  more  trouble  or  forethought  spent  on  the  one  we 
have  in  this  country." 

It  was  not,  however,  so  much  the  internal  policy  of  the 
National  Liberals  that  he  objected  to — it  was  only  the  Elec- 
tion Law  that  he  was  dissatisfied  with — as  their  attitude 
towards  Germany.  Whenever  a  step  was  taken  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  incorporation  of  Slesvig,  he  would  exclaim: 
"  We  are  doing  what  we  solemnly  promised  not  to  do.  How 
can  anyone  be  so  childish  as  to  believe  that  it  will  turn  out 
well!" 

The  son,  whose  home  impressions  In  politics  had  been 
Conservative,  was  a  happy  young  man  with  a  somewhat  em- 
barrassed manner,  who  sometimes  hid  his  uncertainty  under 
the  cloak  of  a  carelessness  that  was  not  altogether  assumed. 
Behind  him  stood  his  family,  to  whom  he  hospitably  intro- 
duced those  of  his  companions  whom  he  liked,  and  though 
the  family  were  not  gentle  of  origin,  they  belonged,  neverthe- 
less, to  the  highest  circles  in  the  country  and  exercised  their 
attraction  through  the  son. 

I,  whom  Ludvlg  David  was  now  eagerly  cultivating, 

'  J.  L.  Ileiberg,  to  whom  such  frequent  allusion  is  made,  was  a  well- 
known  Danish  author  of  the  last  century  (1791-1860).  Among  many  other 
things,  he  wrote  a  series  of  vaudevilles  for  the  Royal  Theatre  at  Copenhagen, 
of  which  he  was  manager.  In  every  piece  he  wrote  there  was  a  special  part 
for  his  wife,  Johanne  Luise  Heiberg,  who  was  the  greatest  Danish  actress  of 
the  19th  century. 


82  REAUNISCENCES 

had  known  him  for  many  years,  as  we  had  been  school- 
fellows and  even  classmates,  although  David  was  considera- 
bly older,  I  had  never  felt  drawn  to  him  as  a  boy,  in  fact, 
had  not  liked  him.  Neither  had  David,  in  our  school-days, 
ever  made  any  advances  to  me,  having  had  other  more  in- 
timate friends.  Now,  however,  he  was  very  cordial  to  me, 
and  expressed  in  strong  terms  his  appreciation  of  my  industry 
and  abilities;  he  himself  was  often  teased  at  home  for  his 
lack  of  application, 

C.  N.  David  was  the  first  public  personality  with  whom, 
as  a  student,  I  became  acquainted  and  into  whose  house  I 
was  introduced.  For  many  years  I  enjoyed  unusual  kind- 
ness and  hospitality  at  the  hands  of  the  old  politician,  after- 
wards Minister  of  Finance. 

VII. 

I  had  hitherto  been  only  mildly  Interested  In  politics. 
I  had,  of  course,  as  a  boy,  attentively  followed  the  course  of 
the  Crimean  war,  which  my  French  uncle,  on  one  of  his  visits, 
had  called  the  fight  for  civilisation  against  barbarism,  al- 
though it  w^as  a  fight  for  Turkey !  now,  as  a  student, 
I  followed  with  keen  Interest  the  Italian  campaign  and  the 
revolt  against  the  Austrian  Dukes  and  the  Neapolitan  Bour- 
bons. But  the  Internal  policy  of  Denmark  had  little  attrac- 
tion for  mc.  As  soon  as  I  entered  the  University  I  felt  my- 
self influenced  by  the  spirit  of  such  men  as  Poul  Moller,  J.  L. 
Helberg,  Soren  Kierkegaard,  and  distinctly  removed  from 
the  belief  in  the  power  of  the  people  which  w^as  being 
preached  everywhere  at  that  time.  This,  however,  was 
hardly  more  than  a  frame  of  mind,  which  did  not  preclude  my 
feeling  myself  in  sympathy  w^ith  what  at  that  time  was  called 
broad  thought  (I.e.,  Liberalism).  Although  I  was  often  In- 
dignant at  the  National  Liberal  and  Scandinavian  terrorism 
which  obtained  a  hearing  at  both  convivial  and  serious  meet- 
ings in  the  Students'  Union,  my  feelings  In  the  matter  of 
Denmark's  foreign  policy  with  regard  to  Svreden  and  Nor- 
way, as  well  as  to  Germany,  were  the  same  as  those  held  by 
all  the  other  students.     I  felt  no  intellectual  debt  to  either 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  83 

Sweden  or  Norway,  but  I  was  drawn  by  affection  towards  the 
Swedes  and  the  Norsemen,  and  in  Christian  Richardt's  lovely 
song  at  the  Northern  Celebration  in  i860,  For  Sweden  and 
Norway,  I  found  the  expression  of  the  fraternal  feelings  that 
I  cherished  in  my  breast  for  our  two  Northern  neighbours. 
On  the  other  hand,  small  as  my  store  of  knowledge  still  was, 
I  had  already  acquired  some  considerable  impression  of  Ger- 
man culture.  Nevertheless,  the  increasingly  inimical  attitude 
of  the  German  people  towards  Denmark,  and  the  threaten- 
ings  of  war  with  Germany,  together  with  my  childish  recol- 
lections of  the  War  of  1848-50,  had  for  their  effect  that  in 
the  Germany  of  that  day  I  only  saw  an  enemy's  country.  A 
violent  affection  that  I  felt  at  sixteen  for  a  charming  little 
German  girl  made  no  difference  to  this  view. 

VIII. 

The  old  men,  who  advocated  the  greatest  caution  in 
dealing  with  the  impossible  demands  of,the  German  Federa- 
tion, and  were  profoundly  distrustful  as  to  the  help  that  might 
be  expected  from  Europe,  were  vituperated  in  the  press.  As 
IFhole-State  Men,  they  were  regarded  as  unpatriotic,  and  as 
so-called  Reactionaries,  accused  of  being  enemies  to  freedom. 
When  I  was  introduced  into  the  house  of  one  of  these  po- 
litically ill-famed  leaders,  In  spite  of  my  ignorance,  I  knew 
enough  of  politics,  as  of  other  subjects,  to  draw  a  sharp 
distinction  between  that  which  I  could  in  a  measure  grasp, 
and  that  which  I  did  not  understand;  I  was  sufficiently  edu- 
cated to  place  Danish  constitutional  questions  in  the  latter 
category,  and  consequently  I  crossed,  devoid  of  prejudice, 
the  threshold  of  a  house  whence  proceeded,  according  to  the 
opinion  of  the  politically  orthodox,  a  pernicious,  though  for- 
tunately powerless,  political  heterodoxy. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  I  came  Into  close  touch' 
with  anything  of  the  sort.  The  old  Minister  never  opened 
his  mouth  on  political  matters  In  the  bosom  of  his  family. 
But  the  Impression  of  superior  Intelligence  and  knowledge 
of  men  that  he  conveyed  was  enough  to  place  him  in  a 
different  light  from  that  In  which  he  was  depicted  In  The 


84  REMINISCENCES 

Fatherland,  the  paper  whose  opinions  were  swallowed  blindly 
by  the  student  body.  And  my  faith  in  the  infallibility  of  the 
paper  was  shaken  even  more  one  day,  when  I  saw  the  Leader 
of  the  Reactionary  Party  himself,  Privy  Councillor  Bluhme, 
at  the  house,  and  sat  unnoticed  in  a  corner,  listening  to  his 
conversation.  He  talked  a  great  deal,  although,  like  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  he  did  not  allude  to  his  public  work.  Like  a 
statesman  of  the  old  school,  he  expressed  himself  with  exquis- 
ite politeness  and  a  certain  ceremony.  But  of  the  affectation 
of  which  The  Fatherland  accused  him,  there  was  not  a  trace. 
What  profoundly  Impressed  me  was  the  Danish  the  old  gen- 
tleman spoke,  the  most  perfect  Danish.  He  told  of  his 
travels  in  India — once  upon  a  time  he  had  been  Governor 
of  Trankebar — and  you  saw  before  you  the  banks  of  the 
Ganges  and  the  white  troops  of  women,  streaming  down  to 
bathe  in  the  river,  as  their  religion  prescribed. 

I  never  forgot  the  words  with  which  Bluhme  rose  to 
go :  "  May  I  borrow  the  English  blue-books  for  a  few  days? 
There  might  be  something  or  other  that  the  newspapers  have 
not  thought  fit  to  tell  us."  I  started  at  the  words.  It 
dawned  upon  me  for  the  first  time,  though.merely  as^  a  re- 
mote possibility,  that  the  Press  might  purposely  and  with  in- 
tent to  mislead  keep  silence  about  facts  that  had  a  claim  upon 
the  attention  of  the  public. 

IX. 

Young  David  had  once  asked  me  to  read  Ovid's  Ele- 
giacs with  him,  and  this  was  the  beginning  of  our  closer 
acquaintance.  In  town,  in  the  Winter,  we  two  younger  ones 
were  only  rarely  with  the  rest  of  the  family,  but  in  Summer  It 
was  different.  The  Minister  had  built  a  house  at  Rung- 
sted,  on  a  piece  of  land  belonging  to  his  brother,  who  was  a 
farmer  and  the  owner  of  Rungstedgaard,  Rungstedlund  and 
Folehavegaard,  a  shrewd  and  practical  man.  To  this  villa, 
which  was  In  a  beautiful  situation,  overlooking  the  sea,  I  was 
often  invited  by  my  friend  to  spend  a  few  days  in  the  Summer, 
sometimes  even  a  month  at  a  time.  At  first,  of  course,  I  was 
nothing  to  the  rest  of  the  family;  they  received  me  for  the 


TRANSITIONAL  YEARS  85 

son's  sake;  but  by  degrees  I  won  a  footing  with  them,  too. 
Ihe  handsome,  clever  and  sprightly  mistress  of  the 
house  took  a  motherly  interest  in  me,  and  the  young 
daughters  showed  me  kindness  for  which  I  was  very 
grateful. 

The  master  of  the  house  sometimes  related  an  anecdote, 
as,  for  instance,  about  Heiberg's  mad  pranks  as  a  young  man. 
When  he  went  off  into  the  woods  and  got  hungry,  he  used  to 
take  provisions  from  the  stores  in  the  lockers  of  the  phaetons 
that  put  up  at  Klampenborg,  while  the  people  were  walking 
about  in  the  park,  and  the  coachmen  inside  the  public-house. 
One  day,  with  Mohl  and  David,  he  got  hold  of  a  huge  layer- 
cake.  The  young  fellows  had  devoured  a  good  half  of  it  and 
replaced  it  under  the  seat  of  the  carnage,  when  the  family 
came  back,  caught  sight  of  Heiberg,  whom  they  knew,  and 
invited  the  young  men  to  have  a  piece  of  cake  and  a  glass  of 
wine.  When  they  made  the  horrifying  discovery  of  the 
havoc  that  had  been  wrought,  they  themselves  would  not 
touch  it,  and  the  robbers,  who  were  stuffed  already,  were 
obliged  to  consume  the  remainder  of  the  cake  between 
them. 

There  was  often  music  at  the  Villa;  sometimes  I  was 
asked  to  read  aloud,  and  then  I  did  my  best,  choosing 
good  pieces  not  well  known,  and  reading  carefully.  The 
pleasant  outdoor  life  gave  me  a  few  glimpses  of  that  rare 
and  ardently  desired  thing,  still  contentment.  It  was 
more  particularly  alone  with  Nature  that  I  felt  myself  at 
home. 

A  loose  page  from  my  diary  of  those  days  will  serve  to 
indicate  the  untried  forces  that  I  felt  stirring  within  me : 

On  the  way  down,  the  sky  was  dappled  with  large  and  many-coloured 
clouds.  I  wandered  about  in  the  woods  to-day,  among  the  oaks  and  beeches, 
and  saw  the  sun  gilding  the  leaves  and  the  tree-trunks,  lay  down  under  a  tree 
with  my  Greek  Homer  and  read  the  first  and  second  books  of  the  Odyssey. 
Went  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  clover  field,  revelled  in  the  clover,  smelt 
it,  and  sucked  the  juice  of  the  flowers.  I  have  the  same  splendid  view  as  of 
old  from  my  window.  The  sea,  in  all  its  flat  expanse,  moved  in  towards  me  to 
greet  me,  w'hen  I  arrived.  It  was  roaring  and  foaming  mildly.  Hveen  could 
be  seen  quite  clearly.  Now  the  wind  is  busy  outside  my  window,  the  sea  is 
stormy,  the  dark  heavens  show  streaks  of  moonlight.     ... 

East  wind  and  rain.  Went  as  far  as  Vallorod  in  a  furious  wind.  The 
sky  kept  clear;   a  dark  red  patch  of  colour  showed  the  position  of  the  Sua 


86  REMINISCENCES 

on  the  horizon.  The  Moon  has  pot  up  hurriedly,  has  turned  from  red  to 
yellow,  and  looks  lovely.  I  am  drunk  with  the  beauties  of  Nature.  Go  to 
Folehave  and  feel,  like  the  gods  in  Homer,  without  a  care.     .     .     . 

I  can  never  get  sleepy  out  in  the  open  country  on  a  windy  night.  Rested 
a  little,  got  up  at  four  o'clock,  went  at  full  speed  along  soaked  roads  to  Humle- 
bsek,  to  Gurre  Ruins  and  lake,  through  the  woods  to  Fredensborg  park,  back  to 
Huml;ba;k,  and  came  home  to  Rungsted  by  steamer.  Then  went  up  on  the 
hill.  Quiet  beauty  of  the  landscape.  Feeling  that  Nature  raises  even  the 
fallen  into  purer,  loftier  regions.  Took  the  Odyssey  and  went  along  the  field- 
path  to  the  stone  table;  cool,  fresh  air,  harmony  and  splendour  over  Nature. 
"Wildly  soars  the  hawk."  Went  up  into  the  sunlit  wood  at  Horsholm,  gazed 
at  the  melancholy  expression  in  the  faces  of  the  horses  and  sheep. 

I  made  ducks  and  drakes  and  asked  the  others  riddles.  A  woman  came 
and  begged  for  help  to  bury  her  husband;  he  had  had  such  an  easy  death. 
(She  is  said  to  have  killed  him  with  a  blow  from  a  wooden  shoe.)  Sat  under 
a  giant  beech  in  Rungsted  Wood;  then  had  a  splendid  drive  after  the  heavy 
rain  up  to  Folehave  and  thence  to  Horsholm.  Everything  was  as  fresh  and 
lovely  as  in  an  enchanted  land.  What  a  freshness!  The  church  and  the 
trees  mirrored  themselves  in  the  lake.  The  device  on  my  shield  shall  be 
three  lucky  peas.^ 

To  Vedbask  and  back.  We  were  going  for  a  row.  My  hostess  agreed, 
but  as  we  had  a  large,  heavy  and  clumsy  boat,  they  were  all  nervous.  Then 
Ludvig's  rowlock  snapped  and  he  caught  a  crab.  It  was  no  wonder,  as 
he  was  rowing  too  deep.  So  I  took  both  sculls  myself.  It  was  tiring  to 
pull  the  heavy  boat  with  so  many,  but  the  sea  was  inexpressibly  lovely,  the 
evening  dead  calm.  Silver  sheen  on  the  water,  visible  to  the  observant 
and   initiated   Nature-lover.      Ripple   from  the   west  wind    (  ^pz;). 

Grubbed  in  the  shingle,  and  went  to  Folehave.  Gathered  flowers  and 
strawberries.      My   fingers   still   smell   of  strawberries. 

Went  out  at  night.  Pictures  of  my  fancy  rose  around  me.  A  Summer's 
night,  but  as  cold  as  Winter,  the  clouds  banked  up  on  the  horizon.  Suppose 
in  the  wind  and  cold  and  dark  I  were  to  meet  one  I  know !  Over  the  corn 
the  wind  whispered  or  whistled  a  name.  The  waves  dashed  in  a  short  little 
beat  against  the  shore.  It  is  only  the  sea  that  is  as  Nature  made  it;  the  land 
in  a  thousand  ways  is  robbed  of  its  virginity  by  human  hands,  but  the  sea  now 
is  as  it  was  thousands  of  years  ago.  A  thick  fog  rose  up.  The  birches 
bent  their  heads  and  went  to  sleep.  But  I  can  hear  the  grass  grow  and  the 
stars  sing. 

Gradually  my  association  with  Ludvig  David  grew  more 
and  more  intimate,  and  the  latter  proved  himself  a  constant 
friend.  A  few  years  after  our  friendship  had  begun,  when 
things  were  looking  rather  black  for  me,  my  father  having 
suffered  great  business  losses,  and  no  longer  being  able  to 
give  me  the  same  help  as  before,  Ludvig  David  invited  me  to 
go  and  live  altogether  at  his  father's  house,  and  be  like  a  son 
there — an  offer  which  I  of  course  refused,  but  which  affected 
me  deeply,  especially  when  I  learnt  that  it  had  only  been 
made  after  the  whole  family  had  been  consulted. 

^  There  seems  to  be  some  such  legendary  virtue  attached  in  Denmark  to 
a  pea-pod  containing  three  or  nine  peas,  as  with  us  to  a  four-leaved  clover. — 
[Translator's  note.] 


TRANSITIONAL  YEARS  87 

X. 

In  November,  1859,  at  exactly  the  same  time  as  Kap- 
pers'  "  literary  and  scientific  "  society  was  started,  a  fellow- 
student  named  Gronbeck,  from  Falster,  who  knew  the  family 
of  Caspar  Paludan-Miiller,  the  historian,  proposed  my  join- 
ing another  little  society  of  young  students,  of  whom  Gron- 
beck thought  very  highly  on  account  of  their  altogether  un- 
usual knowledge  of  books  and  men. 

In  the  old  Students'  Union  in  Boldhusgade,  the  only 
meeting-place  at  that  time  for  students,  which  was  always 
regarded  in  a  poetic  light,  I  had  not  found  what  I  wanted. 
There  was  no  life  in  it,  and  at  the  convivial  meetings 
on  Saturday  night  the  punch  was  bad,  the  speeches  were 
generally  bad,  and  the  songs  were  good  only  once  in  a 
way. 

I  had  just  joined  one  new  society,  but  I  never  rejected  any 
prospect  of  acquaintances  from  whom  I  could  learn  anything, 
and  nothing  was  too  much  for  me.  So  I  willingly  agreed,  and 
one  evening  late  in  November  I  was  introduced  to  the  society 
so  extolled  by  Gronbeck,  which  called  itself  neither  "  liter- 
ary "  nor  "  scientific,"  had  no  other  object  than  sociability, 
and  met  at  Ehlers'  College,  in  the  rooms  of  a  young  philo- 
logical student,  Frederik  Nutzhorn. 

Expecting  as  I  did  something  out  of  the  ordinary,  I 
was  very  much  disappointed.  The  society  proved  to  be  quite 
vague  and  indefinite.  Those  present,  the  host,  a  certain  Jens 
Paludan-Miiller,  son  of  the  historian,  a  certain  Julius  Lange, 
son  of  the  Professor  of  Pedagogy,  and  a  few  others,  received 
me  as  though  they  had  been  waiting  for  me  to  put  the  society 
on  its  legs;  they  talked  as  If  I  were  going  to  do  everything  to 
entertain  them,  and  as  if  they  themselves  cared  to  do  nothing; 
they  seemed  to  be  Indolent,  almost  sluggish.  First  we  read 
aloud  In  turns  from  Bjornson's  /Irne,  which  was  then  new; 
a  lagging  conversation  followed.  Nutzhorn  talked  nonsense, 
Paludan-Miiller  snuffled,  Julius  Lange  alone  occasionally  let 
fall  a  humorous  remark.  The  contrast  between  Nutzhorn's 
band,  who  took  sociability  calmly  and  quietlv,  and  Kappers' 
circle,  which  met  to  work  and  discuss  things  to  its  utmost 


88  REMINISCENCES 

capacity,  was  striking.    The  band  seemed  exceedingly  phleg- 
matic In  comparison. 

This  first  Impression  was  modified  at  subsequent  meet- 
ings. As  I  talked  to  these  young  men  I  discovered,  first  and 
foremost,  how  ignorant  I  was  of  political  history  and  the  his- 
tory of  art;  in  the  next  place,  I  seemed,  in  comparison  with 
them,  to  be  old  in  my  opinions  and  my  habits.  They  called 
themselves  Republicans,  for  instance,  whereas  Republicanism 
in  Denmark  had  in  my  eyes  hitherto  been  mere  youthful  folly. 
Then  again,  they  were  very  unconventional  in  their  habits. 
After  a  party  near  Christmas  time,  which  was  distinguished  by 
a  pretty  song  by  Julius  Lange,  they  proposed — at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night ! — that  we  should  go  to  Frederiksborg.  And 
extravagances  of  this  kind  were  not  infrequent. 

Still  It  was  only  towards  midsummer  i860  that  I  be- 
came properly  merged  into  the  new  circle  and  felt  myself  ai 
home  in  it.  It  had  been  increased  by  two  or  three  first-ratt 
fellows,  Harald  Paulsen,  at  the  present  time  Lord  Chief  Jus- 
tice, a  courageous  young  fellow,  who  was  not  afraid  of  tack- 
ling any  rufllian  who  interfered  with  him  in  a  defile;  Troels 
Lund,  then  studying  theology,  later  on  the  esteemed  historian, 
who  was  always  refined,  self-controlled,  thoughtful,  and  on 
occasion  caustic,  great  at  feints  In  the  fencing  class ;  and  Emil 
Petersen,  then  studying  law  (died  In  1890,  as  Departmental 
Head  of  Railways),  gentle,  dreamy,  exceedingly  conscien- 
tious, with  a  marked  lyric  tendency. 

One  evening,  shortly  before  Midsummer's  eve,  when 
we  had  gone  out  to  Vedba^k,  fetched  Emil  Petersen  from 
Tryggerod  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  beautiful  scenery,  we 
had  a  wrestling  match  out  in  the  water  off  Skodsborg  and  a 
supper  party  afterwards  at  which,  under  the  Influence  of  the 
company,  the  gaiety  rose  to  a  wild  pitch  and  eventually  passed 
all  bounds.  We  made  speeches,  sang,  shouted  our  witticisms 
at  each  other  all  at  once,  seized  each  other  round  the  waist 
and  danced,  till  we  had  to  stop  for  sheer  tiredness.  Then 
we  all  drank  pledges  of  eternal  friendship,  and  trooped  into 
the  town  together,  and  hammered  at  the  doors  of  the 
coffee-houses  after  midnight  to  try  to  get  in  somewhere  where 
we  could  have  coffee.     We  had  learnt  all  at  once  to  know 


TRANSITIONAL    YEARS  89 

and  appreciate  each  other  to  the  full;  we  were  united  by  a 
feeling  of  brotherhood  and  remained  friends  for  life.  The 
life  allotted  to  several  of  the  little  band  was,  it  is  true,  but 
short;  Jens  Paludan-Miiller  fell  at  Sankelmark  three  and  a 
half  years  later;  Nutzhorn  had  only  five  years  and  a  half  to 
I've.  Of  the  others,  Emil  Petersen  and  Julius  Lange  are 
dead.  But,  whether  our  lives  were  long  or  short,  our  meet- 
ings frequent  or  rare,  we  continued  to  be  cordially  attached 
to  one  another,  and  no  misunderstanding  or  ill-feeling  ever 
cropped  up  between  us. 

XI. 

Among  my  Danish  excursions  was  one  to  Slesvig  in  July, 
i860.  The  Copenhagen  students  had  been  asked  to  attend  a 
festival  to  be  held  at  Angel  at  the  end  of  July  for  the  strength- 
ening of  the  sparse  Danish  element  in  that  German-minded 
region.  There  were  not  many  who  wished  to  go,  but  several 
of  those  who  did  had  beautiful  voices,  and  sang  feelingly  the 
national  songs  with  which  it  was  hoped  the  hearts  of  the  Angel 
people,  and  especially  of  the  ladies,  might  be  touched.  Sev- 
eral gentlemen  still  living,  at  that  time  among  the  recognised 
leaders  of  the  students,  went  with  us. 

We  sailed  from  Korsor  to  Flensborg  one  exquisite  Sum- 
mer night;  we  gave  up  the  berths  we  had  secured  and  stayed 
all  night  on  deck  with  a  bowl  of  punch.  It  was  a  starlight 
night,  the  ship  cut  rapidly  through  the  calm  waters,  beautiful 
songs  were  sung  and  high-flown  speeches  made.  One  speech 
was  held  In  a  whisper,  the  one  in  honour  of  General  de  Meza, 
who  was  still  a  universal  favourite,  and  who  was  sitting  in 
his  stateroom,  waked  up  out  of  his  sleep,  with  his  white  gloves 
and  gaufrcd  lace  cuffs  on  and  a  red  and  white  night-cap  on 
his  head.  We  young  ones  only  thought  of  him  as  the  man 
who,  during  the  battle  of  Frederlcia,  had  never  moved  a 
muscle  of  his  face,  and  when  It  was  over  had  said  quietly: 
"The  result  is  very  satisfactory." 

Unfriendly  and  sneering  looks  from  the  windows  at 
Flensborg  very  soon  showed  the  trav^ellers  that  Danish  stu- 
dents' caps  were  not  a  welcome  sight  there.     The  Angel  peas- 


90 


REMINISCENCES 


ants,  however,  were  very  pleasant.  The  festival,  which  lasted 
all  day  and  concluded  with  dancing  and  fireworks,  was  a 
great  success,  and  a  young  man  who  had  been  carousing  all 
night,  travelling  all  day,  and  had  danced  all  the  evening  with 
pretty  girls  till  his  senses  were  in  a  whirl,  could  not  help  re- 
garding the  scene  of  the  festival  in  a  romantic  light,  as  he 
stood  there  alone,  late  at  night,  surrounded  by  flaring  torches, 
the  fireworks  sputtering  and  glittering  about  him.  Some  few 
of  the  students  sat  in  the  fields  round  flaming  rings  of  pitch, 
an  old  Angel  peasant  keeping  the  fires  alight  and  singing  Dan- 
ish songs.  Absolutely  enraptured,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
he  went  about  shaking  hands  with  the  young  men  and 
thanking  them  for  coming.  It  was  pecuharly  solemn  and 
beautiful. 

Next  day,  when  I  got  out  at  Egebaek  station  on  my  way 
from  Flensborg,  intending  to  go  to  Idsted,  It  seemed  that 
three  other  young  men  had  had  the  same  idea,  so  we  all  four 
walked  together.  They  were  young  men  of  a  type  I  had  not 
met  with  before.  The  way  they  felt  and  spoke  was  new  to 
me.  They  all  talked  in  a  very  affectionate  manner,  betrayed 
at  once  that  they  worshipped  one  another,  and  seemed  to  have 
strong,  open  natures,  much  resembling  each  other.  They 
were  Ernst  Trier,  Norregaard,  and  Baagoe,  later  the  three 
well-known  High  School  men. 

The  little  band  arrived  at  a  quick  pace  on  Idsted's  beau- 
tiful heath,  all  tufts  of  ling,  the  red  blossoms  of  which  looked 
lovely  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun.  We  sat  ourselves  down 
on  the  hill  where  Baudissin  and  his  staff  had  stood.  Then 
Baagoe  read  aloud  Hammerich's  description  of  the  battle 
of  Idsted,  while  each  of  us  In  his  mind's  eye  saw  the  seething 
masses  of  troops  advance  and  fall  upon  one  another,  as  they 
had  done  just  ten  years  before. 

Our  time  was  short,  if  we  wanted  to  get  under  a  roof 
that  night.  At  9  o'clock  we  were  still  eight  miles  from  Sles- 
vig.  We  did  the  first  four  at  a  pace  that  was  novel  to  me. 
Three-parts  of  the  way  we  covered  In  forty-five  minutes,  the 
last  two  miles  took  us  twenty.  When  we  arrived  at  the  hotel, 
there  stood  Madam  Esselbach,  of  war  renown,  In  the  door- 
way, with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  as  in  her  portrait;  she 


TRAXSITIOXAL   YEARS  91 

summed  up  the  arrivals  with  shrewd,  sharp  eyes,  and  ex- 
claimed: ''Das  ist  ja  das  jitnge  Ddnemark."  Inside,  offi- 
cers were  sitting,  playing  cards.  Major  Sommer  promised 
us  young  men  to  show  us  Gottorp  at  6  o'clock  next  morning; 
we  should  then  get  a  view  of  the  whole  of  the  town  from 
Hersterbcrg  beforehand. 

The  Major,  who  was  attacked  In  the  newspapers  after 
the  war,  and  whose  expression  "  my  maiden  sword,"  was 
made  great  fun  of,  showed  us  younger  ones  the  magnificent 
church,  and  afterwards  the  castle,  which,  as  a  barracks,  was 
quite  spoilt.  He  acted  as  the  father  of  the  regiment,  and, 
like  Poul  Moller's  artist,  encouraged  the  efficient,  and  said 
hard  words  to  the  slighty,  praising  or  blaming  unceasingly, 
chatted  Danish  to  the  soldiers.  Low  German  to  the  cook. 
High  German  to  the  little  housekeeper  at  the  castle,  and 
called  the  attention  of  his  guests  to  the  perfect  order  and 
cleanliness  of  the  stables.  He  complained  bitterly  that  a  cer- 
tain senior  lieutenant  he  pointed  out  to  us,  who  in  1848  had 
flung  his  cockade  In  the  gutter  and  gone  over  to  the  Germans, 
had  been  reinstated  in  the  regiment,  and  placed  over  the  heads 
of  brave  second-lieutenants  who  had  won  their  crosses  in 
the  war. 

Here  I  parted  with  my  Grundtvlgian  friends.  When 
I  spoke  of  them  to  Julius  Lange  on  my  return,  he  remarked: 
"  They  are  a  good  sort,  who  wear  their  hearts  In  their  button- 
holes as  decorations." 

The  society  I  fell  In  with  for  the  rest  of  my  journey  was 
very  droll.  This  consisted  of  Bonip,  later  Mayor  of  Finance, 
and  a  journalist  named  Falkman  (really  Petersen),  even  at 
that  time  on  the  staffof  The  Daily  Paper.  I  little  guessed 
then  that  my  somewhat  vulgar  travelling  companion  would 
develop  Into  the  Cato  who  wished  Ibsen's  Ghosts  "  might  be 
thrust  Into  the  slime-pit,  where  such  things  belong,"  and 
would  write  articles  by  the  hundred  against  me.  Neither  had 
I  any  suspicion,  during  my  acquaintance  with  Topsoe,  that  the 
latter  would  one  day  be  one  of  my  most  determined  persecu- 
tors. Without  exactly  being  strikingly  youthful,  the  large, 
broad-shouldered  Borup  was  still  a  young  man.  Falkman 
wrote  good-humouredly  long  reports  to  Bllle  about  Slesvlg, 


92  REMINISCENCES 

which  I  corrected  for  him.     Borup  and  Falkman  generally 
exclaimed  the  moment  I  opened  my  mouth :     "  Not  seraphic, 

nowl  " 

We  travelled  together  to  Gliicksborg,  saw  the  camp 
there,  and,  as  we  had  had  nothing  since  our  morning  coffee  at 
5  o'clock,  ate  between  the  three  of  us  a  piece  of  roast  meat  six 
pounds  weight.  We  spent  the  night  at  Flensborg  and  drove 
next  day  to  Graasten  along  a  lovely  road  with  wooded  banks 
on  either  side.  It  was  pouring  with  rain,  and  we  sat  in  dead 
silence,  trying  to  roll  ourselves  up  in  horse-cloths.  When 
in  an  hour's  time  the  rain  stopped,  and  we  put  up  at  an  inn, 
our  enforced  silence  gave  place  to  the  wildest  merriment.  We 
three  young  fellows — the  future  Finance  Minister  as  well — 
danced  into  the  parlour,  hopped  about  like  wild  men,  spilt 
milk  over  ourselves,  the  sofa,  and  the  waitress;  then  sprang, 
waltzing  and  laughing,  out  through  the  door  again  and  up 
into  the  carriage,  after  having  heaped  the  girl  with  small  cop- 
per coins. 

From  Graasten  we  proceeded  to  Sonderborg.  The 
older  men  lay  down  and  slept  after  the  meal.  I  went  up  to 
Dybbolmolle.  On  the  way  back,  I  found  on  a  hill  looking 
out  over  Als  a  bench  from  which  there  was  a  beautiful  view 
across  to  Slesvig.  I  lay  down  on  the  seat  and  gazed  up  at  the 
sky  and  across  the  perfect  country.  The  light  fields,  with  their 
tail,  dark  hedges,  which  give  the  Slesvig  scenery  its  peculiar 
stamp,  from  this  high-lying  position  looked  absolutely 
lovely. 

XII. 

I  was  not  given  to  looking  at  life  in  a  rosy  light.  My 
nature,  one  uninterrupted  endeavour,  was  too  tense  for  that. 
Although  I  occasionally  felt  the  spontaneous  enjoyments  of 
breathing  the  fresh  air,  seeing  the  sun  shine,  and  listening  to 
the  whistling  of  the  wind,  and  always  delighted  in  the  fact 
that  I  was  in  the  heyday  of  my  youth,  there  was  yet  a  con- 
siderable element  of  melancholy  in  my  temperament,  and  I 
was  so  loth  to  abandon  myself  to  any  illusion  that  when  I 
looked  into  my  own  heart  and  summed  up  my  own  life  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  never  been  happy  for  a  day.     I  did 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  93 

not  know  what  it  was  to  be  happy  for  a  whole  day  at  a  time, 
scarcely  for  an  hour.  I  had  only  known  a  moment's  rapture 
In  the  companionship  of  my  comrades  at  a  merry-making,  in 
intercourse  with  a  friend,  under  the  influence  of  the  beauties 
of  Nature,  or  the  charm  of  women,  or  in  delight  at  gaining 
intellectual  riches — during  the  reading  of  a  poem,  the  sight 
of  a  play,  or  when  absorbed  In  a  work  of  art. 

Any  feeling  that  I  was  enriching  my  mind  from  those 
surrounding  me  was  unfortunately  rare  with  me.  Almost 
always,  when  talking  to  strangers,  I  felt  the  exact  opposite, 
which  annoyed  me  exceedingly,  namely,  that  I  was  being  in- 
tellectually sucked,  squeezed  like  a  lemon,  and  whereas  I 
was  never  bored  when  alone,  in  the  society  of  other  people  I 
suffered  overwhelmingly  from  boredom.  In  fact,  I  was  so 
bored  by  the  visits  heaped  upon  me  by  my  comrades  and  ac- 
quaintances, who  inconsiderately  wasted  my  time,  in  order  to 
kill  a  few  hours,  that  I  was  almost  driven  to  despair;  I  was 
too  young  obstinately  to  refuse  to  see  them. 

By  degrees,  the  thought  of  the  boredom  that  I  suffered 
It  almost  all  social  functions  dominated  my  mind  to  such  an 
extent  that  I  wrote  a  little  fairy  tale  about  boredom,  by  no 
means  bad  (but  unfortunately  lost),  round  an  idea 
which  I  saw  several  years  later  treated  in  another  way  in 
Sibbern's  well-known  book  of  the  year  2135.  This  fairy 
tale  was  read  aloud  to  Nutzhorn's  band  and  met  with  its 
approval. 

But  although  I  could  thus  by  no  means  be  called  of 
a  happy  disposition,  I  was,  by  reason  of  my  overflowing 
youth.  In  a  constant  state  of  elation,  which,  as  soon  as  the 
company  of  others  brought  me  out  of  my  usual  balance,  acted 
like  exuberant  mirth  and  made  me  burst  out  laughing. 

I  was  noted,  among  my  comrades,  and  not  always  to  my 
advantage,  for  my  absolutely  ungovernable  risibility.  I  had 
an  exceedingly  keen  eye  for  the  ridiculous,  and  easily  influ- 
enced as  I  still  was,  I  could  not  content  myself  with  a  smile. 
Not  infrequently,  when  walking  about  the  town,  I  used  to 
laugh  the  whole  length  of  a  street.  There  were  times  when 
T  was  quite  incapable  of  controlling  my  laughter;  I  laughed 
like  a  child,  and  It  was  incomprehensible  to  me  that  people 


94  REMINISCENCES 

could  go  so  soberly  and  solemnly  about.     If  a  person  stared 
straight  at  me,  it  made  me  laugh.     If  a  girl  flirted  a  little 
with  me,  I  laughed  in  her  face.     One  day  I  went  out  and 
saw  two  drunken  labourers,  in  a  cab,  each  with  a  wreath  on 
his  knee;  I  was  obliged  to  laugh;  I  met  an  old  dandy  whom  I 
knew,  with  two  coats  on,  one  of  which  hung  down  below  the 
other;  I  had  to  laugh  at  that,  too.     Sometimes,  walking  or 
standing,  absorbed  in  thoughts,  I  was  outwardly  abstracted, 
and  answered  mechanically,  or  spoke  in  a  manner  unsuited  to 
my  words;  if  I  noticed  this  myself,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing  aloud  at  my  own  absent-mindedness.     It  occasion- 
ally happened  that  at  an  evening  party,  where  I  had  been 
introduced  by  the  son  of  the  house  to  a  stiff  family  to  whom  I 
was  a  stranger,  and  where  the  conversation  at  table  was  being 
carried  on  in  laboured  monosyllables,  I  would  begin  to  laugh 
so  unrestrainedly  that  every  one  stared  at  me  in  anger  or 
amazement.     And  it  occasionally  happened  that  when  some 
sad  event,  concerning  people  present,  was  being  discussed,  the 
recollection  of  something  comical  I  had  seen  or  heard  the 
same  day  would  crop  up  in  my  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
else,  and  I  would  be  overtaken  by  fits  of  laughter  that  were 
both  incomprehensible  and  wounding  to  those  round  me,  but 
which  it  was  impossible  to  me  to  repress.     At  funeral  cere- 
monies, I  was  in  such  dread  of  bursting  out  laughing  that  my 
attention  would  involuntarily  fix  itself  on  ever)^thing  it  ought 
to  avoid.     This  habit  of  mine  was  particularly  trying  when 
my  laughter  had  a  ruffling  eflect  on  others  in  a  thing  that  I 
myself  was  anxious  to  carry  through.     Thus  I  spoilt  the  first 
rehearsals  of  Sophocles'  Greek  play  Philoctetes,  which  a  little 
group  of  students  were  preparing  to  act  at  the  request  of  Ju- 
lius Lange.     Some  of  them  pronounced  the  Greek  in  an  un- 
usual manner,  others  had  forgotten  their  parts  or  acted  badly 
■ — and  that  was  quite  enough  to  set  me  off  in  a  fit  of  laughter 
which  I  had  difficulty  in  stopping.     Thus  I  often  laughed, 
when  I  was  tormented  at  being  compelled  to  laugh,  in  reality 
feeling  melancholy,  and  mentally  worried;  I  used  to  think  of 
Oechlenschlager's    GErvarodd,    who    does    not    laugh   when 
he  is  happy,  but  breaks  into  a  guffaw  when  he  is  deeply 
affected. 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  95 

These  fits  of  laughter  were  In  reality  the  outcome  of 
sheer  youthfulness;  with  all  my  musings  and  reflection,  I  was 
still  in  many  ways  a  child;  I  laughed  as  boys  and  girls  laugh, 
without  being  able  to  stop,  and  especially  when  they  ought 
not.  But  this  painful  trait  in  myself  directed  my  thoughts 
to  the  nature  proper  of  laughter;  I  tried  to  sum  up  to  my- 
self why  I  laughed,  and  why  people  in  general  laughed,  pon- 
dered, as  well  as  I  was  capable  of  doing  the  question  of  what 
the  comical  consisted  of,  and  then  recorded  the  fruits  of  my 
reflections  In  my  second  long  treatise.  On  Laughter,  which 
has  been  lost. 

As  I  approached  my  twentieth  year,  these  fits  of  laughter 
stopped.  "  I  have,"  wrote  I  at  the  time,  "  seen  Into  that 
Realm  of  Sighs,  on  the  threshold  of  which  I — like  Parmenis- 
cus  after  consulting  the  Oracle  of  Trophonius — have  sud- 
denly forgotten  how  to  laugh." 

XIII. 

Meanwhile  I  had  completed  my  eighteenth  year  and  had 
to  make  my  choice  of  a  profession.  But  what  .was  I  fitted 
for?  My  parents,  and  those  other  of  my  relations  whose 
opinions  I  valued,  wished  me  to  take  up  the  law;  they  thought 
that  I  might  make  a  good  barrister;  but  I  myself  held  back, 
and  during  my  first  year  of  study  did  not  attend  a  single  law 
lecture.  In  July,  i860,  after  I  had  passed  my  philosophical 
examination  (with  Distinction  In  every  subject),  the  question 
became  urgent.  Whether  I  was  likely  to  exhibit  any  consid- 
erable talent  as  a  writer.  It  was  Impossible  for  me  to  deter- 
mine. There  was  only  one  thing  that  I  felt  clear  about,  and 
that  was  that  I  should  never  be  contented  with  a  subordinate 
position  In  the  literary  world ;  better  a  hundred  times  be  a 
judge  In  a  provincial  town.  I  felt  an  Inward  conviction  that 
I  should  make  my  way  as  a  writer.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a 
deathlike  stillness  reigned  for  the  time  being  over  European 
literature,  but  that  there  were  mighty  forces  working  In  the 
silence.  I  believed  that  a  revival  was  Imminent.  In  August, 
i860,  T  wrote  In  my  private  papers:  *'  We  Danes,  with  our 
national  culture  and  our  knowledge  of  the  literatures  of  other 


96  REMINISCENCES 

countries,  will  stand  well  equipped  when  the  literary  horn  of 
the  Gods  resounds  again  through  the  world,  calling  fiery 
youth  to  battle.  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  that  time  will 
come  and  that  I  shall  be,  if  not  the  one  who  evokes  it  in  the 
North,  at  any  rate  one  who  will  contribute  greatly  to- 
wards it." 

One  of  the  first  books  I  had  read  as  a  student  was  Goe- 
the's Dichtiing  und  Wahrheit,  and  this  career  had  extraor- 
dinarily impressed  me.  In  my  childlike  enthusiasm  I  deter- 
mined to  read  all  the  books  that  Goethe  says  that  he  read  as  a 
boy,  and  thus  commenced  and  finished  Winckelmann's  col- 
lected works,  Lessing's  Laocoon  and  other  books  of  artistic 
and  archaeological  research;  in  other  words,  studied  the  his- 
tory and  philosophy  of  Art  in  the  first  instance  under  aspects 
which,  from  the  point  of  view  of  subsequent  research,  were 
altogether  antiquated,  though  in  themselves,  and  in  their  day, 
valuable  enough. 

Goethe's  life  fascinated  me  for  a  time  to  such  an  extent 
that  I  found  duplicates  of  the  characters  in  the  book  every- 
where. An  old  language  master,  to  whom  I  went  early  in  the 
morning,  in  order  to  acquire  from  him  the  knowledge  of 
English  which  had  not  been  taught  me  at  school,  reminded 
me  vividly,  for  instance,  of  the  old  dancing  master  in  Goethe, 
and  my  Impression  was  borne  out  when  I  discovered  that  he, 
too,  had  two  pretty  daughters.  A  more  Important  point  was 
that  the  book  awoke  In  me  a  restless  thirst  for  knowledge,  at 
the  same  time  that  I  conceived  a  mental  picture  of  Goethe's 
monumental  personality  and  began  to  be  Influenced  by  the 
universality  of  his  genius. 

Meanwhile,  circumstances  at  home  forced  me,  without 
further  vacillation,  to  take  up  some  special  branch  of  study. 
The  prospects  literature  presented  were  too  remote.  For 
Physics  I  had  no  talent;  the  logical  bent  of  my  abilities 
seemed  to  point  In  the  direction  of  the  Law;  so  Jurlspruden- 
tia  was  selected  and  my  studies  commenced. 

The  University  lectures,  as  given  by  Professors  Aage- 
sen  and  Gram,  were  appalling;  they  consisted  of  a  slow, 
sleepy  dictation.  A  death-like  dreariness  brooded  always 
over  the  lecture  halls.     Aagesen  was  especially  unendurable ; 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  97 

there  was  no  trace  of  anything  human  or  living  about  his 
dictation.  Gram  had  a  kind,  well-intentioned  personality, 
but  had  barely  reached  his  desk  than  it  seemed  as  though  he, 
too,  were  saying:  *'  I  am  a  human  being,  everything  human 
is  alien  to  m.e." 

We  consequently  had  to  pursue  our  studies  with  the 
help  of  a  coach,  and  the  one  whom  I,  together  with  Kappers, 
Ludvig  David  and  a  few  others,  had  chosen,  Otto  Algreen- 
Ussing,  was  both  a  capable  and  a  pleasant  guide.  Five  years 
were  yet  to  elapse  before  this  man  and  his  even  more  gifted 
brother,  Frederik,  on  the  formation  of  the  Loyal  and  Con- 
servative Society  of  August,  were  persecuted  and  ridiculed 
as  reactionaries,  by  the  editors  of  the  ascendant  Press,  who, 
only  a  hw  years  later,  proved  themselves  to  be  ten  times 
more  reactionary  themselves.  Otto  was  positively  enthusias- 
tic over  Law;  he  used  to  declare  that  a  barrister  "  was  the 
finest  thing  a  man  could  be." 

However,  he  did  not  succeed  In  Infecting  me  with  his 
enthusiasm.  I  took  pains,  but  there  was  little  in  the  subject 
that  aroused  my  interest.  Christian  the  Fifth's  Danish 
Law  attracted  me  exclusively  on  account  of  Its  language  and 
the  perspicuity  and  pithiness  of  the  expressions  occasionally 
made  use  of. 

With  this  exception  what  Impressed  me  most  of 
all  that  I  heard  in  the  lessons  was  Anders  Sandoe  CErsted's 
Interpretation  of  the  Law.  When  I  had  read  and  re-read 
a  passage  of  law  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  easily  Intelligible, 
and  only  capable  of  being  understood  In  one  way,  how  could 
I  do  other  than  marvel  and  be  seized  with  admiration,  when 
the  coach  read  out  CErsted's  Interpretation,  proving  that  the 
Law  was  miserably  couched,  and  could  be  expounded  In  tliree 
or  four  different  ways,  all  contradicting  one  another! 
But  this  CErsted  very  often  did  prove  in  an  Irrefutable 
manner. 

In  my  lack  of  receptivity  for  legal  details,  and  my  want 
of  interest  In  Positive  Law,  I  flung  myself  with  all  the  greater 
fervour  Into  the  study  of  what  In  olden  times  was  called  Nat- 
ural Law,  and  plunged  again  and  again  Into  the  study  of  Le- 
gal Philosophy. 


98  REMINISCENCES 

XIV. 

About  the  same  time  as  my  legal  studies  were  thus  "begin- 
ning, I  planned  out  a  study  of  Philosophy  and  ilisthctics  on 
a  large  scale  as  well.  My  day  was  systematically  filled  up 
from  early  morning  till  late  at  night,  and  there  was  time 
for  everj'thing,  for  ancient  and  modern  languages,  for  law 
lessons  with  the  coach,  for  the  lectures  in  philosophy  which 
Professors  H.  Brochner  and  R.  Nielsen  were  holding  for 
more  advanced  students,  and  for  independent  reading  of  a 
literary,  scientific  and  historic  description. 

One  of  the  masters  who  had  taught  me  at  school,  a  very 
erudite  philologlan,  now  Dr.  Oscar  Siesbye,  offered  me  gra- 
tuitous instruction,  and  with  his  help  several  of  the  tragedies 
of  Sophocles  and  Euripides,  various  things  of  Plato's,  and 
comedies  by   Plautus   and  Terence  were  carefully  studied. 

Frederik  Nutzhorn  read  the  Edda  and  the  Niehelun- 
genlied  with  me  in  the  originals;  with  Jens  Paludan-Miiller 
I  went  through  the  New  Testament  in  Greek,  and  with  Ju- 
lius Lange,  i^schylus,  Sophocles,  Pindar,  Horace  and  Ovid, 
and  a  little  of  Aristotle  and  Theocritus.  Catullus,  Martial 
and  Caesar  I  read  for  myself. 

But  I  did  not  find  any  positive  inspiration  in  my  studies 
until  I  approached  my  nineteenth  year.  In  philosophy  I  had 
hitherto  mastered  only  a  few  books  by  Soren  Kierkegaard. 
But  now  I  began  a  conscientious  study  of  Hciberg's  philo- 
sophical writings  and  honestly  endeavoured  to  make  myself 
familiar  with  his  speculative  logic.  As  Helberg's  Prose 
Writings  came  out,  in  the  1861  edition,  they  were  studied 
with  extreme  care.  Helberg's  death  in  i860  was  a  great 
grief  to  me;  as  a  thinker  I  had  loved  and  revered  him.  The 
clearness  of  form  and  the  internal  obscurity  of  his  adaptation 
of  Hegel's  Teachings,  gave  one  a  certain  artistic  satisfaction, 
at  the  same  time  that  it  provoked  an  effort  really  to  under- 
stand. * 

But  in  the  nature  of  things,  Helberg's  philosophical  life- 
work  could  not  to  a  student  be  other  than  an  admission  into 
Hegel's  train  of  thought,  and  an  introduction  to  the  master's 
own  works.     I  was  not  aware  that  by  i860  Europe  had  long 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  99 

passed  his  works  by  In  favour  of  more  modern  thinking. 
With  a  passionate  desire  to  reach  a  comprehension  of  the 
truth,  I  grappled  with  the  System,  began  with  the  Encyclo- 
psedia,  read  the  three  volumes  of  i^sthetics.  The  Philosophy 
of  Law,  the  Philosophy  of  History,  the  Phenomenology 
of  the  Mind,  then  the  Philosophy  of  Law  again,  and  finally 
the  Logic,  the  Natural  Philosophy  and  the  Philosophy  of 
the  Mind  in  a  veritable  Intoxication  of  comprehension  and 
delight.  One  day,  when  a  young  girl  towards  whom  I  felt 
attracted  had  asked  me  to  go  and  say  good-bye  to  her  be- 
fore her  departure,  I  forgot  the  time,  her  journey,  and  my 
promise  to  her,  over  my  Hegel.  As  I  walked  up  and  down 
my  room  I  chanced  to  pull  my  watch  out  of  my  pocket,  and 
realised  that  I  had  missed  my  appointment  and  that  the 
girl  must  have  started  long  ago. 

Hegel's  Philosophy  of  Law  had  a  charm  for  me  as  a 
legal  student,  partly  on  account  of  the  superiority  with  which 
the  substantial  quality  of  Hegel's  mind  Is  there  presented, 
and  partly  on  account  of  the  challenge  In  the  attitude  of  the 
book  to  accepted  opinions  and  expressions,  "  morality  "  here 
being  almost  the  only  thing  Hegel  objects  to. 

But  It  was  the  book  on  ^Esthetics  that  charmed  me  most 
of  all.  It  was  easy  to  understand,  and  yet  weighty,  super- 
abundantly rich. 

Again  and  again  while  reading  Hegel's  works  I  felt 
carried  away  with  delight  at  the  new  world  of  thought  open- 
ing out  before  me.  And  when  anything  that  for  a  long  time 
had  been  Incomprehensible  to  me,  at  last  after  tenacious  re- 
flection became  clear,  I  felt  what  I  myself  called  "  an  un- 
speakable bliss."  Hegel's  system  of  thought,  anticipatory  of 
experience,  his  German  style,  overburdened  with  arbitrarily 
constructed  technical  words  from  the  year  18  10,  which  one 
might  think  would  daunt  a  young  student  of  another  country 
and  another  age,  only  meant  to  me  difficulties  which  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  overcome.  Sometimes  It  was  not  Hegellanlsm 
itself  that  seemed  the  main  thing.  The  main  thing  was  that 
I  was  learning  to  know  a  world-embracing  mind;  I  was  being 
initiated  into  an  attempt  to  comprehend  the  universe  which 
was  half  wisdom  and  half  poetry;  I  was  obtaining  an  Insight 


loo  REMINISCENCES 

into  a  method  which,  if  scientifically  unsatisfying,  and  on  that 
ground  already  abandoned  by  investigators,  was  fruitful  and 
based  upon  a  clever,  ingenuous,  highly  intellectual  concep- 
tion of  the  essence  of  truth;  1  felt  myself  put  to  school 
to  a  great  intellectual  leader,  and  in  this  school  I  learnt 
to  think. 

I  might,  it  is  true,  have  received  my  initiation  in  a  school 
built  up  on  more  modern  foundations;  it  is  true  that  I  should 
have  saved  much  time,  been  spared  many  detours,  and  have 
reached  my  goal  more  directly  had  I  been  introduced  to  an 
empirical  philosophy,  or  if  Fate  had  placed  me  in  a  school  in 
which  historical  sources  were  examined  more  critically,  but 
not  less  intelligently,  and  in  which  respect  for  individuality 
was  greater.  But  such  as  the  school  was,  I  derived  from  It  all 
the  benefit  it  could  afford  to  my  ego,  and  I  perceived  with  de- 
light that  my  intellectual  progress  was  being  much  acceler- 
ated. Consequently  it  did  not  specially  take  from  my  feel- 
ing of  having  attained  a  measure  of  scientific  insight,  when 
I  learnt — what  I  had  not  known  at  first — that  my  teachers, 
Hans  Brochner,  as  well  as  Rasmus  Nielsen,  were  agreed  not 
to  remain  satisfied  with  the  conclusions  of  the  German  phi- 
losopher, had  "  got  beyond  Hegel."  At  the  altitude  to 
which  the  study  of  philosophy  had  now  lifted  me,  I  saw  that 
the  questions  with  which  I  had  approached  Science  were  in- 
correctly formulated,  and  they  fell  away  of  themselves,  even 
without  being  answered.  Words  that  had  filled  men's  minds 
for  thousands  of  years,  God,  Infinity,  Thought,  Nature  and 
Mind,  Freedom  and  Purpose,  all  these  words  acquired  an- 
other and  a  deeper  meaning,  were  stamped  with  a  new  char- 
acter, acquired  a  new  value,  and  the  depurated  ideas  which 
they  now  expressed  opposed  each  other,  and  combined  with 
each  other,  until  the  universe  was  seen  pierced  by  a  plexus  of 
thoughts,  and  resting  calmly  within  it. 

Viewed  from  these  heights,  the  petty  and  the  every-day 
matters  which  occupied  the  human  herd  seemed  so  contemp- 
tible. Of  what  account,  for  instance,  was  the  wrangling  In 
the  Senate  and  the  Parliament  of  a  little  country  like  Den- 
mark compared  with  Hegel's  vision  of  the  mighty  march, 
Inevitable  and  determined  by  spiritual  laws,  of  the  idea  of 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  loi 

Freedom,  through  the  world's  History!  And  of  what  ac- 
count was  the  daily  gossip  of  the  newspapers,  compared  with 
the  possibility  now  thrown  open  of  a  life  of  eternal  ideals, 
lived  in  and  for  them  ! 

XV. 

I  had  an  even  deeper  perception  of  my  initiation  when 
I  went  back  from  Hegel  to  Spinoza  and,  filled  with  awe  and 
enthusiasm,  read  the  Ethica  for  the  first  time.  Here  I  stood 
at  the  source  of  modern  pantheistic  Philosophy.  Here  Phi- 
losophy was  even  more  distinctly  Religion,  since  it  took  Re- 
ligion's place.  Though  the  method  applied  was  very  arti- 
ficial, purely  mathematical,  at  least  Philosophy  had  here  the 
attraction  of  a  more  original  type  of  mind,  the  effect  being 
much  the  same  as  that  produced  by  primitive  painting,  com- 
pared with  a  more  developed  stage.  His  very  expression, 
God  or  Nature,  had  a  fascinating  mysticism  about  it.  The 
chapter  In  the  book  which  Is  devoted  to  the  Natural  History 
of  passions,  surprised  and  enriched  one  by  its  simple,  but  pro- 
found, explanation  of  the  conditions  of  the  human  soul.  And 
although  his  fight  against  Superstition's  views  of  life  is  con- 
ducted with  a  keenness  that  scouts  discussion,  whereas  in 
modern  Philosophy  the  contention  is  merely  implied,  it 
seemed  as  though  his  thoughts  travelled  along  less  stormy 
paths. 

In  Hegel,  it  had  been  exclusively  the  comprehensiveness 
of  the  thoughts  and  the  mode  of  the  thought's  procedure 
that  held  my  attention.  With  Spinoza  it  was  different.  It 
was  his  personality  that  attracted,  the  great  man  in  him,  one 
of  the  greatest  that  History  has  known.  With  him  a  new 
type  had  made  its  entrance  into  the  world's  History;  he  was 
the  calm  thinker,  looking  down  from  above  on  this  earthly 
life,  reminding  one,  by  the  purity  and  strength  of  his  charac- 
ter, of  Jesus,  but  a  contrast  to  Jesus,  inasmuch  as  he  was  a 
worshipper  of  Nature  and  Necessity,  and  a  Pantheist.  His 
teaching  was  the  basis  of  the  faith  of  the  new  age.  He  was 
a  Saint  and  a  Heathen,  seditious  and  pious,  at  the  same 
time. 


102  REMINISCENCES 

XVI. 

Still,  while  I  was  in  this  way  making  a  purely  mental 
endeavour  to  penetrate  into  as  many  intellectual  domains  as 
I  could,  and  to  become  master  of  one  subject  after  another, 
1  was  very  far  from  being  at  peace  with  regard  to  my  intellec- 
tual acquisitions,  or  from  feeling  myself  in  incontestable  pos- 
session of  them.  While  I  was  satisfying  my  desire  for  insight 
or  knowledge  and,  by  glimpses,  felt  my  supremest  happiness 
in  the  delight  of  comprehension,  an  ever  more  violent  strug- 
gle was  going  on  in  my  emotions. 

As  my  being  grew  and  developed  within  me  and  I  slowly 
emerged  from  the  double  state  of  which  I  had  been  conscious, 
in  other  words,  the  more  I  became  one  and  individual  and 
strove  to  be  honest  and  true,  the  less  I  felt  myself  to  be  a 
mere  individual,  the  more  I  realised  that  I  was  bound  up 
with  humanity,  one  link  in  the  chain,  one  organ  belonging 
to  the  Universe.  The  philosophical  Pantheism  I  was  ab- 
sorbed by,  itself  worked  counter  to  the  idea  of  individualism 
inherent  In  me,  taught  me  and  presented  to  me  the  union 
of  all  beings  in  Nature  the  All-Divine.  But  it  was  not  from 
Pantheism  that  the  crisis  of  my  spiritual  life  proceeded;  it 
was  from  the  fountains  of  emotion  which  now  shot  up  and 
filled  my  soul  with  their  steady  flow.  A  love  for  humanity 
came  over  me,  and  watered  and  fertilised  the  fields  of  my 
inner  world  which  had  been  lying  fallow,  and  this  love  of 
humanity  vented  Itself  In  a  vast  compassion. 

This  gradually  absorbed  me  till  I  could  hardly  bear  the 
thought  of  the  suffering,  the  poor,  the  oppressed,  the  vic- 
tims of  Injustice.  I  always  saw  them  In  my  mind's  eye,  and 
it  seemed  to  be  my  duty  to  work  for  them,  and  to  be  disgrace- 
ful of  me  to  enjoy  the  good  things  of  life  while  so  many  were 
being  starved  and  tortured.  Often  as  I  walked  along  the 
streets  at  night  I  brooded  over  these  Ideas  till  I  knew  noth- 
ing of  what  was  passing  around  me,  but  only  felt  how  all 
the  forces  of  my  brain  drew  me  towards  those  who  suffered. 

There  were  warm-hearted  and  benevolent  men  among  my 
near  relatives.  The  man  whom  my  mother's  younger  sister 
had  married  had  his  heart  in  the  right  place,  so  much  indeed 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  103 

that  he  no  sooner  saw  or  heard  of  distress  than  his  hand 
was  in  his  pocket,  although  he  had  little  from  which  to  give. 
My  father's  brother  was  a  genuinely  philanthropic  man,  who 
founded  one  beneficent  institution  or  society  after  the  other, 
had  an  unusual  power  of  inducing  his  well-to-do  fellow- 
townsmen  to  carry  his  schemes  through,  and  in  the  elabora- 
tion of  them  showed  a  perception  and  practical  sense  that 
almost  amounted  to  genius;  this  was  the  more  surprising  since 
his  intelligence  was  not  otherwise  remarkable  for  its  keen- 
ness and  his  reasoning  methods  were  confused.  But  what  I 
felt  was  quite  different.  My  feelings  were  not  so  easily 
roused  as  those  of  the  first-mentioned ;  I  was  not  so  good- 
natured  or  so  quick  to  act  as  he.  Neither  did  they  resemble 
those  of  my  other  uncle,  who  merely  represented  compassion 
for  those  unfortunately  situated,  but  was  without  the  least 
vestige  of  rebellious  feeling  against  the  conditions  or  the 
people  responsible  for  the  misery;  my  uncle  was  always 
content  with  life  as  it  was,  saw  the  hand  of  a  loving 
Providence  everywhere  and  was  fully  and  firmly  convinced 
that  he  himself  was  led  and  helped  by  this  same  Providence, 
which  specially  watched  over  the  launching  of  his  projects 
for  the  welfare  of  mankind.  No,  my  feeling  was  of  quite 
another  kind.  Nothing  was  farther  removed  from  me  than 
this  sometimes  quite  childish  optimism.  It  was  not  enough 
for  me  to  advertise  the  sufferings  of  a  few  individuals  and, 
when  possible,  alleviate  them;  I  sought  the  causes  of  them  in 
brutality  and  injustice.  Neither  could  I  recognise  the  finger 
of  a  Universal  Ruler  in  a  confusion  of  coincidences,  conversa- 
tions, newspaper  articles,  and  advice  by  prudent  men,  the  out- 
come of  all  which  was  the  founding  of  a  society  for  seam- 
stresses or  the  erection  of  a  hospital  to  counteract  the  misery 
that  the  Controlling  Power  had  Itself  occasioned.  I  was  a 
child  no  longer,  and  in  that  sense  never  had  been  childish. 
But  my  heart  bled  none  the  less  with  sympathy  for  society's 
unfortunates.  I  did  not  as  yet  perceive  the  necessity  of  that 
selfishness  which  is  self-assertion,  and  I  felt  oppressed  and 
tormented  by  all  that  I,  in  my  comparatively  advantageous 
position  as  a  non-proletarian,  enjoyed,  while  many  others  did 
not. 


104  REMINISCENCES 

Then  another  mood,  with  other  promptings,  asserted 
itself.  I  felt  an  impulse  to  step  forward  as  a  preacher  to 
the  world  around  me,  to  the  thoughtless  and  the  hard- 
hearted. Under  the  influence  of  strong  emotion  I  wrote  an 
edifying  discourse,  The  Profitable  Fear.  I  began  to  regard 
it  as  my  duty,  so  soon  as  I  was  fitted  for  it,  to  go  out  into 
the  town  and  preach  at  every  street-corner,  regardless  of 
whether  a  lay  preacher,  like  myself,  should  encounter  indif- 
ference or  harvest  scorn. 

This  course  attracted  me  because  It  presented  Itself  to 
me  under  the  guise  of  the  most  difficult  thing,  and,  with  the 
perversity  of  youth,  I  thought  difficulty  the  only  crite- 
rion of  duty.  I  only  needed  to  hit  upon  something  that 
seemed  to  me  to  be  the  right  thing  and  then  say  to  myself: 
"You  dare  not  do  it!  "  for  all  the  youthful  strength  and 
daring  that  w^as  In  me,  all  my  deeper  feelings  of  honour  and 
of  pride,  all  my  love  of  grappling  with  the  apparently  In- 
surmountable to  unite,  and  In  face  of  this  You  dare  not,  sat- 
isfy myself  that  I  did  dare. 

As  provisionally,  self-abnegation,  humility,  and  asceti- 
cism seemed  to  me  to  be  the  most  difficult  things,  for  a  time 
my  whole  spiritual  life  was  concentrated  Into  an  endeavour  to 
attain  them.  Just  at  this  time — I  was  nineteen — my  family 
was  in  a  rather  difficult  pecuniary  position,  and  I,  quite  a 
poor  student,  was  cast  upon  my  own  resources.  I  had  con- 
sequently not  much  of  this  world's  goods  to  renounce.  From 
a  comfortable  residence  in  Crown  Prince's  Street,  my  parents 
had  moved  to  a  more  modest  flat  In  the  exceedingly  unaristo- 
cratlc  Salmon  Street,  where  I  had  an  attic  of  limited  dimen- 
sions with  outlook  over  roofs  by  day  and  a  view  of  the 
stars  by  night.  Quiet  the  nights  were  not,  Inasmuch  as  the 
neighbouring  houses  re-echoed  with  screams  and  shrieks 
from  poor  women,  whom  their  late-returning  husbands  or 
lovers  thrashed  in  their  cups.  But  never  had  I  felt  myself 
so  raised,  so  exhilarated,  so  blissfully  happy,  as  in  that 
room.  My  days  slipped  by  In  ecstasy;  I  felt  myself  conse- 
crated a  combatant  in  the  service  of  the  Highest.  I  used 
to  test  my  body,  in  order  to  get  it  wholly  under  my  control, 
ate  as  little  as  possible,  slept  as  little  as  possible,  lay  many 


TRANSITIONAL  YEARS  105 

a  night  outside  my  bed  on  the  bare  floor,  gradually  to  make 
myself  as  hardy  as  I  required  to  be.  I  tried  to  crush  the 
youthful  sensuality  that  was  awakening  in  me,  and  by  degrees 
acquired  complete  mastery  over  myself,  so  that  I  could  be 
what  I  wished  to  be,  a  strong  and  willing  instrument  in  the 
fight  for  the  victory  of  Truth.  And  I  plunged  afresh 
into  study  with  a  passion  and  a  delight  that  prevented  my  per- 
ceiving any  lack,  but  month  after  month  carried  me  along, 
increasing  in  knowledge  and  in  mental  power,  growing  from 
day  to  day. 

XVII. 

This  frame  of  mind,  however,  was  crossed  by  another. 
The  religious  transformation  in  my  mind  could  not  remain 
clear  and  unmuddied,  placed  as  I  was  in  a  society  furrowed 
through  and  through  by  different  religious  currents,  issued  as 
I  was  from  the  European  races  that  for  thousands  of  years 
had  been  ploughed  by  religious  ideas.  All  the  atavism,  all 
the  spectral  repetition  of  the  thoughts  ^ni  ideas  of  the  past 
that  can  lie  dormant  in  the  mind  of  the  individual,  leaped  to 
the  reinforcement  of  the  harrowing  religious  impressions 
which  came  to  me  from  without. 

It  was  not  the  attitude  of  my  friends  that  impressed 
me.  All  my  more  intimate  friends  were  orthodox  Chris- 
tians, but  the  attempts  which  various  ones,  amongst  them 
Julius  Lange,  and  Jens  Paludan-Miiller,  had  made  to  con- 
vert me  had  glanced  off  from  my  much  more  advanced 
thought  without  making  any  Impression.  I  was  made  of 
much  harder  metal  than  they,  and  their  attempts  to  alter  my 
way  of  thinking  did  not  penetrate  beyond  my  hide.  To  set 
my  mind  In  vibration,  there  was  needed  a  brain  that  I  felt 
superior  to  my  own ;  and  I  did  not  find  It  In  them.  I  found  it 
in  the  philosophical  and  religious  writings  of  Soren  Kierke- 
gaard, in  such  works,  for  Instance,  as  Sickness  tinto  Death.    • 

The  struggle  within  me  began,  faintly,  as  I  approached 
my  nineteenth  year.  My  point  of  departure  was  this:  one 
thing  seemed  to  me  requisite,  to  live  In  and  for  The  Idea, 
as  the  expression  for  the  highest  at  that  time  was.     AH 


io6  REMINISCENCES 

that  rose  up  inimical  to  The  Idea  or  Ideal  merited  to  be 
lashed  with  scorn  or  felled  with  indignation.  And  one  day  I 
penned  this  outburst :  "Heine  wept  over  Don  Quixote.  Yes, 
he  was  right.  1  could  weep  tears  of  blood  when  I  thinli  of 
the  book."  But  the  first  thing  needed  was  to  acquire  a  clear 
conception  of  what  must  be  understood  by  the  Ideal.  Hci- 
berg  had  regarded  the  uneducated  as  those  devoid  of  ideals. 
But  I  was  quite  sure  myself  that  education  afforded  no  crite- 
rion. And  I  could  find  no  other  criterion  of  devotion  to  the 
Ideal  than  a  willingness  to  make  sacrifices.  If,  I  said,  I 
prove  myself  less  self-sacrificing  than  any  one  of  the  wretches 
I  am  fighting,  I  shall  myself  incur  well-merited  scorn.  But 
if  self-sacrifice  were  the  criterion,  then  Jesus,  according  to 
the  teachings  of  tradition,  was  the  Ideal,  for  who  as  self- 
sacrificing  as  He? 

This  was  an  inclined  plane  leading  to  the  Christian  spir- 
itual life,  and  a  year  later,  when  I  was  nearly  twenty,  I 
had  proceeded  so  far  on  this  plane  that  I  felt  myself  in  all 
essentials  in  agreement  with  the  Christian  mode  of  feeling, 
inasmuch  as  my  life  was  ascetic,  and  my  searching,  striving, 
incessantly  working  mind,  not  only  found  repose,  but  rap- 
ture, in  prayer,  and  was  elated  and  fired  at  the  idea  of  being 
protected  and  helped  by  '*  God." 

"But  just  as  I  was  about  to  complete  mv  twentieth  year, 
the  storm  broke  out  over  again,  and  during  the  whole  of  the 
ensuing  six  months  raged  with  unintermittent  violence.  Was 
I,  at  this  stage  of  my  development,  a  Christian  or  not?  And 
if  not,  was  it  my  duty  to  become  a  Christian? 

The  first  thought  that  arose  was  this:  It  is  a  great 
effort,  a  constant  effort,  sometimes  a  minutely  recurring  ef- 
fort, to  attain  moral  mastery  over  one's  self,  and  though  this 
certainly  need  not  bring  with  it  a  feeling  of  self-satisfaction, 
much  less  oii^ht  to  do  so,  it  does  bring  with  it  a  recognition 
of  the  value  of  this  self-mastery.  How  strange,  then,  that 
Christianity,  which  commands  its  attainment,  at  the  same 
time  declares  it  to  be  a  matter  of  indifference  to  the  revealed 
God  whether  a  man  has  lived  morally  or  not,  since  Faith 
or  lack  of  Faith  is  the  one  condition  upon  which  so-called 
Salvation  depends  I 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  107 

The  next  thought  was  this:  It  Is  only  In  the  writings 
of  Kierkegaard,  In  his  teachings  concerning  paradox,  that 
Christianity  appears  so  delinite  that  it  cannot  be  confused 
with  any  other  spiritual  trend  whatever.  But  when  one  has 
to  make  one's  choice  between  Pantheism  and  Christianity, 
then  the  question  arises,  Are  Kierkegaard's  teachings  really 
historic  Christianity,  and  not  rather  a  rational  adaptation? 
And  this  question  must  be  answered  in  the  negative,  since  it 
is  possible  to  assimilate  it  without  touching  upon  the  question 
of  the  revelation  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  the  shape  of  a  dove,  to 
the  Voice  from  the  clouds,  and  the  whole  string  of  miracles 
and  dogmas. 

The  next  thought  again  was  this :  Pantheism  does  not 
place  any  one  unconditional  goal  in  front  of  man.  The  un- 
believer passes  his  life  interested  in  the  many  aims  that  man, 
as  man,  has.  The  Pantheist  will  therefore  have  difficulty 
in  living  a  perfect  ethical  life.  There  are  many  cases  in 
which,  by  deviating  from  the  strictly  ethic  code,  you  do  not 
harm  anyone,  you  only  injure  your  own  soul.  The  Non-Be- 
liever  will  in  this  case  only  hardly,  for  the  sake  of  impersonal 
Truth,  make  up  his  mind  to  the  step  which  the  God-fearing 
man  will  take  actuated  by  his  passionate  fear  of  offending 
God. 

Thus  was  I  tossed  backwards  and  forwards  in  my  re- 
flections. ' 

XVIII.  I 

What  I  dreaded  most  was  that  if  I  reached  a  recognition 
of  the  truth,  a  lack  of  courage  would  prevent  me  decisively 
making  It  my  own.  Courage  was  needed,  as  much  to  under- 
take the  burdens  entailed  by  being  a  Christian  as  to  under- 
take those  entailed  by  being  a  Pantheist.  When  thinking  of 
Christianity,  1  drew  a  sharp  distinction  between  the  coward- 
ice that  shrunk  from  renunciation  and  the  doubt  that  placed 
under  discussion  the  very  question  as  to  whether  renuncia- 
tion were  duty.  And  It  was  clear  to  me  that,  on  the  road 
which  led  to  Christianity,  doubt  must  be  overcome  before 
cowardice — ^not  the  contrary,  as  Kierkegaard  maintains  in 


io8  REMINISCENCES 

his  For  Self -Examination,  where  he  says  that  none  of  the 
martyrs  doubted. 

But  my  doubt  would  not  be  overcome.  Kierkegaard 
had  declared  that  It  was  only  to  the  consciousness  of  sin  that 
Christianity  was  not  horror  or  madness.  For  me  it  was 
sometimes  both.  I  concluded  therefrom  that  I  had  no  con- 
sciousness of  sin,  and  found  this  idea  confirmed  when  I  looked 
into  my  own  heart.  For  however  violently  at  this  period  I 
reproached  myself  and  condemned  my  failings,  they  were 
always  in  my  eyes  weaknesses  that  ought  to  be  combatted,  or 
defects  that  could  be  remedied,  never  sins  that  necessitated 
forgiveness,  and  for  the  obtaining  of  this  forgiveness,  a  Sa- 
viour. That  God  had  died  for  me  as  my  Saviour, — I  could 
not  understand  what  it  meant;  it  was  an  idea  that  conveyed 
nothing  to  me. 

And  I  wondered  whether  the  inhabitants  of  another 
planet  would  be  able  to  understand  how  on  the  Earth  that 
which  was  contrary  to  all  reason  was  considered  the  highest 
truth. 

XIX. 

With  Pantheism  likewise  I  was  on  my  guard  against  its 
being  lack  of  courage,  rather  than  a  conviction  of  its  untruth, 
v\hich  held  me  back  from  embracing  it.  I  thought  it  a  true 
postulate  that  everything  seemed  permeated  and  sustained  by 
a  Reason  that  had  not  human  aims  In  front  of  It  and  did  not 
work  hy  human  means,  a  Divine  Reason.  Nature  could  only 
be  understood  from  its  highest  forms;  the  Ideal,  which  re- 
vealed itself  to  the  world  of  men  at  their  highest  develop- 
ment, was  present,  in  possibility  and  Intent,  in  the  first  germ, 
in  the  mist  of  primeval  creation,  before  it  divided  Itself  into 
organic  and  Inorganic  elements.  The  whole  of  Nature  was 
in  its  essence  Divine,  and  I  felt  myself  at  heart  a  worshipper 
of  Nature. 

But  this  same  Nature  was  indifferent  to  the  weal  or  woe 
of  humans.  It  obeyed  its  own  laws  regardless  of  whether 
men  were  lost  thereby;  it  seemed  cruel  In  its  callousness;  it 
took  care  that  the  species  should  be  preserved,  but  the  indi- 
vidual was  nothing  to  It. 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  109 

Now,  like  all  other  European  children,  I  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  theory  of  personal  immortality,  a  theory 
which,  amongst  other  things,  is  one  way  of  expressing  the 
immense  importance,  the  eternal  importance,  which  is  at- 
tributed to  each  individual.  The  stronger  the  feeling  of  his 
own  ego  that  the  individual  has,  the  more  eagerly  he 
necessarily  clings  to  the  belief  that  he  cannot  be  annihilated. 
But  to  none  could  the  belief  be  more  precious  than  to  a 
youth  who  felt  his  life  pulsate  within,  as  if  he  had  twenty 
lives  in  himself  and  twenty  more  to  live.  It  was  impossible 
to  me  to  realise  that  I  could  die,  and  one  evening,  about 
a  year  later,  I  astonished  my  master.  Professor  Brochner,  by- 
confessing  as  much.  *'  Indeed,"  said  Brochner,  "  are  you 
speaking  seriously?  You  cannot  realise  that  you  will  have 
to  die  one  day?  How  young!  You  are  very  different  from 
me,  who  always  have  death  before  my  eyes." 

But  although  my  vitality  was  so  strong  that  I  could  not 
Imagine  my  own  death,  I  knew  well  enough  that  my  terres- 
trial life,  like  all  other  men's,  would  come  to  an  end.  But 
I  felt  all  the  more  strongly  that  it  was  Impossible  everything 
could  be  at  an  end  then;  death  could  not  be  a  termination; 
it  could  only,  as  the  religions  preached  and  as  eighteenth- 
century  Deism  taught,  be  a  moment  of  transition  to  a  new 
and  fuller  existence.  In  reward  and  punishment  after  death  I 
could  not  believe ;  those  were  mediaeval  conceptions  that  I  had 
long  outgrown.  But  the  dream  of  Immortality  I  could  not 
let  go.  And  I  endeavoured  to  hold  It  fast  by  virtue  of  the 
doctrine  of  the  Impossibility  of  anything  disappearing.  The 
quantity  of  matter  always  remained  the  same;  energy  sur- 
vived every  transformation. 

Still,  I  realised  that  this  could  not  satisfy  one,  as  far  as 
the  form  which  we  term  Individuality  was  concerned.  What 
satisfaction  was  It  to  Alexander  that  his  dust  should  stop  a 
bung-hole?  or  to  Shakespeare  that  Romeo  and  Juliet  were 
acted  in  Chicago?  So  I  took  refuge  In  parallels  and  Images. 
Who  could  tell  whether  the  soul,  which  on  earth  had  been 
blind  to  the  nature  of  the  other  life,  did  not,  In  death,  un- 
dergo the  operation  which  opened  Its  eyes?  Who  could  tell 
whether  death  were  not,  as  SIbbern  had  suggested,  to  be  com- 


no  "REMINISCENCES 

pared  with  a  birth?  Just  as  the  unborn  life  in  its  mother's 
womb  would,  if  it  were  conscious,  believe  that  the  revolu- 
tion of  birth  meant  annihilation,  whereas  it  was  for  the  first 
time  awakening  to  a  new  and  infinitely  richer  life,  so  it  was 
perhaps  for  the  soul  in  the  dreaded  moment  of  death.   .    .    . 

But  when  I  placed  before  my  master  these  comparisons 
and  the  hopes  I  built  upon  them,  they  were  swept  away  as 
meaningless;  he  pointed  out  simply  that  nothing  went  to 
prove  a  continuation  of  personality  after  death,  while  on  the 
contrary  everything  argued  against  it, — and  to  this  I  could 
not  refuse  my  assent. 

Then  I  understood  that  in  what  I  called  Pantheism, 
the  Immortality  of  the  individual  had  no  place.  And  a  slow, 
Internal  struggle  commenced  for  renunciation  of  the  Im- 
portance and  value  of  the  Individual.  I  had  many  a  con- 
versation on  this  point  with  my  teacher,  a  man  tired  of  life 
and  thoroughly  resigned. 

He  always  maintained  that  the  desire  of  the  individual 
for  a  continuation  of  personality  was  nothing  but  the  out- 
come of  vanity.  He  would  very  often  put  the  question  In  a 
comical  light.  He  related  the  following  anecdote:  In 
summer  evenings  he  used  to  go  for  a  walk  along  the  Philoso- 
pher's Avenue  (now  West  Rampart  Street).  Here  he  had 
frequently  met,  sitting  on  their  benches,  four  or  five  old  gen- 
tlemen who  took  their  evening  ramble  at  the  same  time;  by 
degrees  they  made  each  other's  acquaintance  and  got  Into  con- 
versation with  one  another.  It  turned  out  that  the  old  gen- 
tlemen were  candle-makers  who  had  retired  from  business 
and  now  had  considerable  difficulty  In  passing  their  time 
away.  In  reality  they  were  always  bored,  and  they  yawned 
Incessantly.  These  men  had  one  theme  only,  to  which  they 
always  recurred  with  enthusiasm — their  hope  in  personal  im- 
mortality for  all  eternity.  And  it  amused  Brochner  that 
they,  who  in  this  life  did  not  know  how  to  kill  so  much  as  one 
Sunday  evening,  should  be  so  passionately  anxious  to  have  a 
whole  eternity  to  fill  up.  His  pupil  then  caught  a  glimpse 
himself  of  the  grotesqueness  of  wishing  to  endure  for  mil- 
lions of  centuries,  which  time  even  then  was  nothing  In  com- 
parison with  eternity. 


TRANSITIONAL   YEARS  iir 

XX. 

But  in  spite  of  it  all,  it  was  a  hard  saying,  that  in  the 
pantheistic  view  of  life  the  absorption  of  the  individual  into 
the  great  whole  took  the  place  of  the  continued  personal  ex- 
istence which  was  desired  by  the  ego.  But  what  frightened 
me  even  more  was  that  the  divine  All  was  not  to  be  moved 
or  diverted  by  prayer.  But  pray  I  had  to.  From  my  ear- 
liest childhood  I  had  been  accustomed,  in  anxiety  or  neces- 
sity, to  turn  my  thoughts  towards  a  Higher  Power,  first  form- 
ing my  needs  and  wishes  into  words,  and  then  later,  without 
words,  concentrating  myself  in  worship.  It  was  a  need  in- 
herited from  many  hundreds  of  generations  of  forefathers, 
this  need  of  invoking  help  and  comfort.  Nomads  of  the 
plains,  Bedouins  of  the  desert,  ironclad  warriors,  pious 
priests,  roving  sailors,  travelling  merchants,  the  citizen  of  the 
town  and  the  peasant  in  the  country,  all  had  prayed  for 
centuries,  and  from  the  very  dawn  of  time;  the  women, 
the  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  women  from  whom  I  was 
descended,  had  centred  all  their  being  in  prayer.  It  was 
terrible,  never  to  be  able  to  pray  again.  .  .  ,  Never  to  be 
able  to  fold  one's  hands,  never  to  raise  one's  eyes  above,  but 
to  live,  shut  in  overhead,  alone  in  the  universe ! 

If  there  were  no  eye  in  Heaven  that  watched  over  the  in- 
dividual, no  ear  that  understood  his  plaint,  no  hand  that  pro- 
tected him  in  danger,  then  he  was  placed,  as  it  were,  on  a 
desolate  steppe  where  the  wolves  were  howling. 

And  in  alarm  I  tried  once  more  the  path  towards  re- 
ligious quietude  that  I  had  recently  deemed  impracticable, — 
until  the  fight  wnthin  me  calmed  again,  and  in  renunciation  I 
forced  my  emotion  to  bow  to  what  my  reason  had  acknowl- 
edged as  the  Truth. 


ADOLESCENCE 

Julius  Lange — A  New  Master — Inadaptlon  to  the  Law — The  University 
Prize  Competition — An  Interview  with  the  Judges — Meeting  of  Scan- 
dinavian Students — The  Paludan-Miiilers — Bjornstjerne  Bjornson — Mag- 
dalene Tlioresen — The  Gold  Medal — The  Death  of  King  Frederik  VII — 
The  Political  Situation — My  Master  of  Arts  Examination — War — Admis- 
sns  cum  lauJe  praec'ipua — Academical  Attention — Lecturing — Music — 
Nature — A  Walking  Tour — In  Print — Philosophical  Life  in  Denmark 
— Death  of  Ludwig  David — Stockholm. 

I. 

AMONG  my  many  good  comrades,  there  was  one, 
Julius  Lange,  with  whom  comradeship  had  devel- 
oped into  friendship,  and  this  friendship  again  as- 
sumed a  passionate  character.  We  were  the  two,  who,  of 
them  all,  were  most  exactly  suited  to  one  another,  completed 
one  another.  Fundamentally  different  though  we  were,  we 
could  always  teach  each  other  something.  We  grew  indispen- 
sable to  one  another;  for  years  there  seldom  a  day  went  by 
that  we  did  not  meet.  The  association  with  his  junior  cannot 
possibly  have  given  Julius  Lange  a  delight  corresponding  to 
that  which  his  society  gave  me.  Intellectually  equal,  we 
were  of  temperaments  diametrically  opposed.  Having  the 
same  love  of  Art  and  the  same  enthusiasm  for  Art, — save 
that  the  one  cared  more  for  its  pictorial  and  the  other  for  its 
literary  expression, — we  were  of  mutual  assistance  to  one 
another  in  the  interchange  of  thoughts  and  mformation.  En- 
tirely at  variance  in  our  attitude  towards  religious  tradition, 
in  our  frequent  collisions  we  were  both  perpetually  being 
challenged  to  a  critical  inspection  of  our  intellectual  furniture. 
But  I  was  the  one  who  did  the  worshipping. 

When  Julius  Lange,  on  December  17,  1861,  after  hav- 
ing twice  been  to  see  me  and  found  me  out,  the  third  time 


ADOLESCENCE  113 

met  with  me  and  Informed  me:  "I  have  received  an  Invita- 
tion to  go  to  Italy  on  Saturday  and  be  away  five  months," 
was,  though  surprised,  exceedingly  glad  for  my  friend's  sake, 
but  at  the  same  time  1  felt  as  if  I  had  received  a  blow 
in  the  face.  What  would  become  of  me,  not  only  during  the 
interval,  but  afterwards?  Who  could  say  whether  Lange 
would  ever  come  back,  or  whether  he  would  not  come  back 
changed?  How  should  I  be  able  to  endure  my  life!  I 
should  have  to  work  tremendously  hard,  to  be  able  to  bear 
the  loss  of  him.  I  could  hardly  understand  how  I  should  be 
able  to  exist  when  I  could  no  longer,  evening  after  evening, 
slip  up  to  my  friend's  little  room  to  sit  there  in  calm,  quiet 
contentment,  seeing  pictures  and  exchanging  thoughts !  It 
was  as  though  a  nerve  had  been  cut.  I  only  then  realised 
that  I  had  never  loved  any  man  so  much.  I  had  had  four 
eyes;  now  I  had  only  two  again;  I  had  had  two  brains;  now 
I  had  only  one ;  in  my  heart  I  had  felt  the  happiness  of  two 
human  beings;  now  only  the  melancholy  of  one  was  left 
behind. 

There  was  not  a  painting,  a  drawing,  a  statue  or  a  bas- 
relief  in  the  galleries  and  museums  of  Copenhagen  that  we 
had  not  studied  together  and  compared  our  impressions  of. 
We  had  been  to  Thorwaldsen's  Museum  together,  we  went 
together  to  Bissen's  studio,  where  in  November,  1861,  I  met 
for  the  first  time  my  subsequent  friends,  Vilhelm  Bissen  and 
Walter  Runeberg.  The  memory  of  Julius  Lange  was  asso- 
ciated in  my  mind  with  every  picture  of  Hobbema,  Dubbels  or 
Ruysdael,  Rembrandt  or  Rubens,  every  reproduction  of  Ital- 
ian Renaissance  art,  every  photograph  of  church  or  castle. 
And  I  myself  loved  pictures  even  more  ardently  than  poetry. 
I  was  fond  of  comparing  my  relations  with  literature  to  affec- 
tion for  a  being  of  the  same  sex;  my  passion  for  pictures  to 
the  stormy  passion  of  a  youth  for  a  woman.  It  is  true  that 
I  knew  much  less  about  Art  than  about  Poetry,  but  that  made 
no  difference.  I  worshipped  my  favourite  artists  with  a  more 
impetuous  enthusiasm  than  any  of  my  favourite  authors. 
And  this  affection  for  pictures  and  statuary  was  a  link  between 
my  friend  and  myself.  When  we  were  sitting  in  my  room 
together,  and  another  visitor  happened  to  be  there,  I  posi- 


114  REMINISCENCES 

tively  suffered  over  the  sacrifice  of  an  hour's  enjoyment  and 
when  Lange  got  up  to  go,  I  felt  as  though  a  window  had 
been  slammed  to,  and  the  fresh  air  shut  out. 

II. 

I  had  for  a  long  time  pursued  my  non-jurldlc  studies 
as  well  as  I  could  without  the  assistance  of  a  teacher.  But 
I  had  felt  the  want  of  one.  And  when  a  newly  appointed 
docent  at  the  University,  Professor  H.  Brochner,  offered  in- 
struction in  the  study  of  Philosophy  to  any  who  cared  to 
present  themselves  at  his  house  at  certain  hours,  I  had  felt 
strongly  tempted  to  take  advantage  of  his  offer.  I  hesi- 
tated for  some  time,  for  I  was  unwilling  to  give  up  the  least 
portion  of  my  precious  freedom;  I  enjoyed  my  retirement, 
the  mystery  of  my  modest  life  of  study,  but  on  the  other 
hand  I  could  not  grapple  with  Plato  and  Aristotle  without 
the  hints  of  a  competent  guide  as  to  the  why  and  wherefore. 

I  was  greatly  excited.  I  had  heard  Professor  Brochner 
speak  on  Psychology,  but  his  diction  was  handled  with  such 
painful  care,  was  so  monotonous  and  sounded  so  strange,  that 
it  could  not  fail  to  alarm.  It  was  only  the  professor's  dis- 
tinguished and  handsome  face  that  attracted  me,  and  in  par- 
ticular his  large,  sorrowful  eyes,  with  their  beautiful  expres- 
sion, in  which  one  read  a  life  of  deep  research — and  tears. 
Now,  I  determined  to  venture  up  to  Brochner.  But  I  had  not 
the  courage  to  mention  it  to  my  mother  beforehand,  for  fear 
speaking  of  it  should  frighten  me  from  my  resolution,  so  un- 
easy did  I  feel  about  the  step  I  was  taking.  When  the  day 
which  I  had  fixed  upon  for  the  attempt  arrived — it  was  the 
2nd  of  September,  1861, — I  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of 
the  house  several  times  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to 
go  upstairs;  I  tried  to  calculate  beforehand  what  the  profes- 
sor would  say,  and  what  it  would  be  best  for  me  to  reply, 
interminably. 

The  tall,  handsome  man  with  the  appearance  of  a  Span- 
ish knight,  opened  the  door  himself  and  received  the  young 
fellow  who  was  soon  to  become  his  most  intimate  pupil,  very 
kindly.     To  my  amazement,  as  soon  as  he  heard  my  name, 


ADOLESCENCE  115 

he  knew  which  school  I  had  come  from  and  also  that  I  had 
recently  become  a  student.  He  vigorously  dissuaded  me  from 
going  through  a  course  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  saying  it 
would  be  too  great  a  strain — said,  or  implied,  that  I  should 
be  spared  the  difficult  path  he  had  himself  traversed,  and 
sketched  out  a  plan  of  study  of  more  modern  Philosophy  and 
i^sthetlcs.  His  manner  Inspired  confidence  and  left  behind 
it  the  main  impression  that  he  wished  to  save  the  beginner  all 
useless  exertion.  All  the  same,  with  my  youthful  energy,  I 
felt,  as  I  went  home,  a  shade  disappointed  that  I  was  not  to 
begin  the  History  of  Philosophy  from  the  beginning. 

My  visit  was  soon  repeated,  and  a  most  affectionate  In- 
timacy quickly  sprang  up  between  master  and  pupil,  revealed 
on  the  side  of  the  elder,  in  an  attitude  of  fatherly  goodwill  to 
which  the  younger  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger,  the  teacher, 
while  instructing  his  pupil  and  giving  him  practical  guidance, 
constantly  keeping  In  view  all  that  could  further  his  well- 
being  and  assist  his  future;  my  attitude  was  one  of  reverence 
and  affection,  and  of  profound  gratitude  for  the  care  of 
which  I  was  the  object. 

I  certainly,  sometimes,  in  face  of  my  master's  great  thor- 
oughness and  his  skill  in  wrestling  with  the  most  difficult 
thoughts,  felt  a  painful  distrust  of  my  own  capacity  and  of 
my  own  Intellectual  powers,  compared  with  his.  I  was  also 
not  Infrequently  vexed  by  a  discordant  note,  as  it  were,  being 
struck  in  our  intercourse,  when  Brochner,  despite  the  doubts 
and  objections  I  brought  fonvard,  always  took  it  for  granted 
that  I  shared  his  pantheistic  opinions,  without  perceiving  that 
I  was  still  tossed  about  by  doubts,  and  fumbling  after  a 
firm  foothold.  But  the  confidential  terms  upon  which  I  was 
with  the  maturer  man  had  an  attraction  for  me  which  my  inti- 
macy with  undecided  and  youthfully  prejudiced  comrades 
necessarily  lacked;  he  had  the  experience  of  a  lifetime  behind 
him,  he  looked  down  from  superior  heights  on  the  sympathies 
and  antipathies  of  a  young  man. 

To  me,  for  instance,  Ploug's  The  Fatherland  was  at 
that  time  Denmark's  most  intellectual  organ,  whereas  Bille's 
Daily  Paper  disgusted  me,  more  particularly  on  account  of 
the  superficiality  and  the  tone  of  finality  which  distinguished 


ii6  REMINISCENCES 

Its  literary  criticisms.  Brochner,  who,  with  not  unmixed 
benevolence,  and  without  making  any  special  distinction  be- 
tween the  two,  looked  down  on  both  these  papers  of  the  edu- 
cated mediocrity,  saw  in  his  young  pupil's  bitterness  against 
the  trivial  but  useful  little  daily,  only  an  indication  of  the 
quality  of  his  mind.  Brochner's  mere  manner,  as  he  re- 
marked one  day  with  a  smile,  "You  do  not  read  The  Daily 
Paper  on  principle,"  made  me  perceive  in  a  flash  the  comical- 
ity of  my  indignation  over  such  articles  as  it  contained.  My 
horizon  was  still  sufficiently  circumscribed  for  me  to  suppose 
that  the  state  of  affairs  in  Copenhagen  was,  in  and  of  itself,  of 
Importance.  I  myself  regarded  my  horizon  as  wide.  One 
day,  when  making  a  mental  valuation  of  myself,  I  wrote,  with 
the  naivete  of  nineteen,  "My  good  qualities,  those  which  will 
constitute  my  personality,  If  I  ever  become  of  any  account,  are 
a  mighty  and  ardent  enthusiasm,  a  thorough  authority  in  the 
service  of  Truth,  a  wide  horizon  and  philosophically  trained 
thinking  powers.  These  must  make  up  for  my  lack  of  hu- 
mour and  facility." 

It  was  only  several  years  after  the  beginning  of  our  ac- 
quaintance that  I  felt  myself  In  essential  agreement  with 
Hans  Brochner.  I  had  been  enraptured  by  a  study  of  Lud- 
wlg  Feuerbach's  books,  for  Feuerbach  was  the  first  thinker 
in  whose  writings  I  found  the  origin  of  the  Idea  of  God  In  the 
human  mind  satisfactorily  explained.  In  Feuerbach,  too,  I 
found  a  presentment  of  ideas  without  circumlocution  and 
without  the  usual  heavy  formulae  of  German  philosophy,  a 
conquering  clarity,  which  had  a  very  salutary  effect  on  my 
own  way  of  thinking  and  gave  me  a  feeling  of  security.  If 
for  many  years  I  had  been  feeling  myself  more  conservative 
than  my  friend  and  master,  there  now  came  a  time  when  in 
many  ways  I  felt  myself  to  be  more  liberal  than  he,  with  his 
mysterious  life  In  the  eternal  realm  of  mind  of  which  he  felt 
himself  to  be  a  link. 

III. 

I  had  not  been  studying  Jurisprudence  much  more  than 
a  year  before  it  began  to  weigh  very  heavily  upon  me.  The 
mere  sight  of  the  long  rows  of  Schoii's  Ordinances,  which 


ADOLESCENCE  117 

filled  the  whole  of  the  back,  of  my  writing-table,  were  a  daily 
source  of  vexation.  I  often  felt  that  1  should  not  be  happy 
until  the  Ordinances  were  swept  from  my  table.  And  the 
lectures  were  always  so  dreary  that  they  positively  made  me 
think  of  suicide — and  1  so  thirsty  of  life! — as  a  final  means 
of  escape  from  the  torment  of  them.  I  felt  myself  so  little 
adapted  to  the  Law  that  I  wasted  my  time  with  Hamlet-like 
cogitations  as  to  how  I  could  give  up  the  study  without  pro- 
voking my  parents'  displeasure,  and  without  stripping  myself 
of  all  prospects  for  the  future.  And  for  quite  a  year 
these  broodings  grew,  till  they  became  a  perfect  night- 
mare to  me. 

I  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  work  upon  myself;  I  gave 
lessons  every  day,  that  I  might  have  a  little  money  coming  in, 
took  lessons  myself  in  several  subjects,  and  not  infrequently 
plunged  into  philosophical  works  of  the  past,  that  were 
too  difficult  for  me,  such  as  the  principal  works  of  Kant. 
Consequently  when  I  was  nineteen,  I  begun  to  feel  my 
strength  going.  I  felt  unwell,  grew  nervous,  had  a  feeling 
that  I  could  not  draw  a  deep  breath,  and  when  I  was  twenty 
my  physical  condition  was  a  violent  protest  against  overwork. 
One  day,  while  reading  Kant's  Krilik  der  Urtcilskraft,  I  felt 
so  weak  that  I  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  doctor.  The  latter 
recommended  physical  exercises  and  cold  shower-baths. 

The  baths  did  me  good,  and  I  grew  so  accustomed  to 
them  that  I  went  on  taking  them  and  have  done  so  ever  since. 
I  did  my  gymnastic  exercises  with  a  Swede  named  Nycander, 
who  had  opened  an  establishment  for  Swedish  gymnastics  in 
Copenhagen. 

There  I  met,  amongst  others,  the  well-known  Icelandic 
poet  and  diplomatist,  Grimur  Thomsen,  who  bore  the  title  of 
Counsellor  of  Legation.  His  compatriots  were  very  proud 
of  him.  Icelandic  students  declared  that  Grimur  possessed 
twelve  dress  shirts,  three  pairs  of  patent  leather  boots,  and 
had  embraced  a  marchioness  in  Paris.  At  gymnastics, 
Grimur  Thomsen  showed  himself  audacious  and  not  seldom 
coarse  in  what  he  said  and  hinted.  It  is  true  that  by  reason 
of  my  youth  I  was  very  susceptible  and  took  offence  at  things 
that  an  older  man  would  have  heard  without  annoyance. 


ii8  REMINISCENCES 

IV. 

I  continued  to  be  physically  far  from  strong.  Mentally, 
I  worked  indefatigably.  The  means  of  deciding  the  study 
question  that,  after  long  reflection,  seemed  to  me  most  ex- 
pedient, was  this:  I  would  compete  for  one  of  the  University 
prizes,  either  the  aesthetic  or  the  philosophical,  and  then,  if 
I  won  the  gold  medal,  my  parents  and  others  would  see  that 
if  I  broke  with  the  Law  it  was  not  from  idleness,  but  because 
I  really  had  talents  in  another  direction. 

As  early  as  i860  I  had  cast  longing  eyes  at  the  prize 
questions  that  had  been  set,  and  which  hung  up  in  the  En- 
trance Hall  of  the  University.  But  none  of  them  were 
suited  to  me.  In  1861  I  made  up  my  mind  to  attempt 
a  reply,  even  if  the  questions  in  themselves  should  not 
be  attractive. 

There  was  amongst  them  one  on  the  proper  correlation 
between  poetic  fiction  and  history  in  the  historical  romances. 
The  theme  in  Itself  did  not  particularly  fascinate  me;  but  I 
was  not  ignorant  of  the  subject,  and  it  was  one  that  allowed 
of  being  looked  at  in  a  wide  connection,  i.e.,  the  claims  of  the 
subject  as  opposed  to  the  imagination  of  the  artist,  in  general. 
I  was  of  opinion  that  just  as  in  sculpture  the  human  figure 
should  not  be  represented  with  wings,  but  the  conception  of 
Its  species  be  observed,  so  the  essential  nature  of  a  past  age 
should  be  unassailed  In  historic  fiction.  Throughout  numer- 
ous carefully  elaborated  abstractions,  extending  over  120  folio 
pages,  and  In  which  I  aimed  at  scientific  perspicuity,  I  en- 
deavoured to  give  a  soundly  supported  theory  of  the  limits  of 
inventive  freedom  in  Historical  Romance.  The  substruc- 
ture was  so  painstaking  that  It  absorbed  more  than  half  of  the 
treatise.  Quite  apart  from  the  other  defects  of  this  tyro 
handiwork,  it  lauded  and  extolled  an  gesthetlc  direction  op- 
posed to  that  of  both  the  men  who  were  to  adjudicate  upon 
it.  Hegel  was  mentioned  In  It  as  "  The  supreme  exponent  of 
i^sthetics,  a  man  whose  Imposing  greatness  it  Is  good  to  bow 
before."  I  likewise  held  with  his  emancipated  pupil,  Fr.  Th. 
VIscher,  and  vindicated  him.  Of  Danish  thinkers,  J.  L.  Hel- 
berg  and  S.  Kierkegaard  were  almost  the  only  ones  discussed. 


ADOLESCENCE  119 

Heiberg  was  certainly  incessantly  criticised,  but  was  treated 
with  profound  reverence  and  as  a  man  whose  slightest  utter- 
ance was  of  importance.  Sibbern's  artistic  and  philosophical 
researches,  on  the  other  hand,  were  quite  overlooked,  indeed 
sometimes  Vischer  was  praised  as  being  the  first  originator 
of  psychological  developments,  which  Sibbern  had  suggested 
many  years  before  him.  I  had,  for  that  matter,  made  a 
very  far  from  sufficient  study  of  Sibbern's  researches,  which 
were,  partly,  not  systematic  enough  for  me,  and  partly  had  re- 
pelled me  by  the  peculiar  language  in  which  they  were 
couched. 

Neither  was  it  likely  that  this  worship  of  Heiberg,  which 
undeniably  peeped  out  through  all  the  proofs  of  imperfec- 
tions and  self-contradictions  in  him,  would  appeal  to 
Hauch. 

When  I  add  that  the  work  was  youthfully  doctrinaire,  in 
language  not  fresh,  and  that  in  its  skeleton-like  thinness  it 
positively  tottered  under  the  weight  of  its  definitions,  it  is 
no  wonder  that  it  did  not  win  the  prize.  The  verdict  passed 
upon  it  was  to  the  effect  that  the  treatise  was  thorough  in  its 
way,  and  that  it  would  have  been  awarded  the  prize  had  the 
question  asked  been  that  of  determining  the  correlation  be- 
tween History  and  Fiction  in  general,  but  that  under  the 
circumstances  it  dwelt  too  cursorily  on  Romance 
and  was  only  deemed  deserving  of  "a  very  honourable 
mention." 

Favourable  as  this  result  was,  it  was  nevertheless  a  blow 
to  me,  who  had  made  my  plans  for  the  following  years  de- 
pendent on  whether  I  won  the  prize  or  not.  Julius  Lange, 
who  knocked  at  my  door  one  evening  to  tell  me  the  result, 
was  the  witness  of  my  disappointment.  "  I  can  understand," 
he  said,  "  that  you  should  exclaim:  'Oleum  et  operam  per- 
didi!  \  but  you  must  not  give  up  hope  for  so  little.  It  is  a 
good  thing  that  you  prohibited  the  opening  of  the  paper  giv- 
ing your  name  in  the  event  of  the  paper  not  winning  the  prize, 
for  no  one  will  trouble  their  heads  about  the  flattering  criti- 
cism and  an  honourable  mention  would  only  harm  you  in 
people's  eves;  it  would  stamp  you  with  the  mark  of 
mediocrity." 


I20  REMINISCENCES 

V. 

The  anonymous  recipient  of  the  honourable  mention 
nevertheless  determined  to  call  upon  his  judges,  make  their 
acquaintance,  and  let  them  know  who  he  was. 

I  went  first  to  Hauch,  who  resided  at  that  time  at  Fred- 
eriksberg  Castle,  in  light  and  lofty  rooms.  Hauch  appeared 
exaggeratedly  obliging,  the  old  man  of  seventy  and  over 
paying  me,  young  man  as  I  was,  one  compliment  after 
the  other.  The  treatise  was  "  extraordinarily  good,"  they 
had  been  very  sorry  not  to  give  me  the  prize;  but  I  was  not 
to  bear  them  any  ill-will  for  that;  they  had  acted  as  their  con- 
sciences dictated.  In  eighteen  months  I  should  be  ready  to 
take  my  Magister  examination;  the  old  poet  thought  he 
might  venture  to  prophesy  that  I  should  do  well.  He  was 
surprised  at  his  visitor's  youth,  could  hardly  understand  how 
at  my  age  I  could  have  read  and  thought  so  much,  and  gave 
me  advice  as  to  the  continuation  of  my  studies. 

Sibbern  was  as  cordial  as  Hauch  had  been  polite  and 
cautious.  It  was  very  funny  that,  whereas  Hauch  remarked 
that  he  himself  had  wished  to  give  me  the  prize  with  an  al- 
though  m  the  criticism,  but  that  Sibbern  had  been  against  it, 
Sibbern  declared  exactly  the  reverse;  in  spite  of  all  its  faults 
he  had  wanted  to  award  the  medal,  but  Hauch  had  expressed 
himself  adverse.  Apparently  they  had  misunderstood  one 
another;  but  in  any  case  the  result  was  just,  so  there  was 
nothing  to  complain  of. 

Sibbern  went  Into  the  details  of  the  treatise,  and  was 
stricter  than  Hauch.  He  regretted  that  the  main  section  of 
the  argument  was  deficient;  the  premises  were  too  prolix. 
He  advised  a  more  historic,  less  philosophical  study  of  Liter- 
ature and  Art.  He  Avas  pleased  to  hear  of  the  Intimate 
terms  I  was  on  with  Brochner,  whereas  Hauch  would  have 
preferred  my  being  associated  with  Rasmus  Nielsen,  whom 
he  jestingly  designated  "a  regular  brown-bread  nature." 
When  the  treatise  was  given  back  to  me,  I  found  it  full  of  apt 
and  Instructive  marginal  notes  from  Sibbern's  hand. 

Little  as  I  had  gained  by  my  unsuccessful  attempt  to  win 
this  prize,  and  unequivocally  as  my  conversation  with  the 


ADOLESCENCE  121 

practical  Slbbern  had  proved  to  me  that  a  post  as  master  in 
my  mother  tongue  at  a  Grammar-school  was  all  that  the 
Magister  degree  in  -Esthetics  was  likely  to  bring  me,  whereas 
from  my  childhood  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would 
never  be  a  master  in  a  school,  this  conversation  nevertheless 
ripened  my  determination  to  give  up  my  law  studies,  but  of 
course  only  when  by  successfully  competing  for  the  prize 
the  next  year  I  had  satisfactorily  proved  my  still  questionable 
ability. 

VI. 

The  Meeting  of  Scandinavian  students  at  Copenhagen 
In  June,  1862,  taught  me  what  it  meant  to  be  a  Scandinavian. 
Lilie  all  the  other  undergraduates,  I  was  Scandinavian  at 
heart,  and  the  arrangements  of  the  Meeting  were  well  cal- 
culated to  stir  the  emotions  of  youth.  Although,  an  insig- 
nificant Danish  student,  I  did  not  talcc  part  in  the  expedition 
to  North  Zealand  specially  arranged  for  our  guests,  conse- 
quently neither  was  present  at  the  luncheon  given  by  Fred- 
derik  VII.  to  the  students  at  Fredensborg  (which  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  heavy  shower) ,  I  was  nevertheless  deeply  Im- 
pressed by  the  Meeting. 

It  was  a  fine  sight  to  behold  the  students  from  the 
three  other  Scandinavian  Universities  come  sailing  across 
the  Sound  from  Malmo  to  Copenhagen.  The  Norwegians 
were  especially  striking,  tall  and  straight,  with  narrow  faces 
under  tasseled  caps,  like  a  wood  of  young  fir  trees;  the  na- 
tional type  was  so  marked  that  at  first  I  could  hardly  sec  any 
difference  between  them. 

For  me,  there  were  three  perfect  moments  during  the 
festivities.  The  first  was  at  the  meeting  of  all  the  students 
in  the  Square  of  Our  Lady,  after  the  arrival  of  the  visitors, 
when  the  scholars  of  the  Metropolitan  School,  crowding  the 
windows  of  the  building,  greeted  them  with  a  shout  of  de- 
light. There  was  such  a  freshness,  such  a  childish  enthusiasm 
about  it,  that  some  of  us  had  wet  eyes.  It  was  as  though  the 
still  distant  future  were  acclaiming  the  voung  ones  now  ad- 
vancing to  the  assault,  and  promising  them  sympathy  and 
conquest. 


122  RExMlNlSCENCES 

The  second  was  when  the  four  new  flags  embroidered 
by  Danish  ladles  for  the  students  were  consecrated  and 
handed  over.  Clausen's  speech  was  full  of  grandeur,  and 
addressed,  not  to  the  recipients,  but  to  the  flags  as  living 
beings;  "Thou  wilt  cross  the  Baltic  to  the  sanctuary  at 
Upsala.  Thou  wilt  cross  the  Cattegat  to  the  land  of 
rocks,  ..."  and  the  address  to  each  of  the  flags  concluded: 
"  Fortune  and  Honour  attend  thee !  "  The  evening  after  the 
consecration  of  the  flags,  there  was  a  special  performance 
at  the  Royal  Theatre  for  the  members  of  the  Meeting,  at 
which  Helberg,  radiant  as  she  always  was,  and  saluted  with 
well-merited  enthusiasm,  played  Sophie  m  the  vaudeville 
"  No/'  with  a  rosette  of  the  Scandinavian  colours  at  her 
waist.  Then  it  was  that  Paludan-Miiller's  prologue,  recited 
by  our  idolised  actor,  Michael  WIehe,  caused  me  the  third 
thrilling  moment.  Listening  to  the  words  of  the  poet  from 
a  bad  place  In  the  gallery,  I  was  hardly  the  only  one  who  felt 
strangely  stirred,  as  WIehe,  letting  his  eyes  roam  round  the 
theatre,  said: 

Oh !   that  the  young  of  the  North  might  one  day  worthily  play 

Their  part!     Oh  that  each  one  might  do  his  best 

For  the  party  he  has  chosen !     That  never  there  be  lack 

Of  industry,  fidelity,  strength   and  talents! 

And  may  he  firm  step  forth,  the  mighty  genius 

{Mayhap,  knotvn  only  to  the  secret  power  with'ui  him, 

Seated  amongst   us   noiv),   the   mighty   genius, 

Who,   as   Fate  hath  willed   it,   is  to  play_ 

The  mighty  part  and   do  the  mighty  things. 

Involuntarily  we  looked  round,  seeking  for  the  one  to  whom 
the  poet's  summons  referred. 

The  general  spirit  of  this  Meeting  has  been  called  flat 
in  comparison  with  that  pervading  former  meetings.  It 
did  not  strike  the  younger  participants  so,  A  breath  of  Scan- 
dinavianism  swept  over  every  heart;  one  felt  borne  along  on 
a  historic  stream.  It  seemed  like  a  bad  dream  that  the  peo- 
ples of  the  North  had  for  so  many  centuries  demolished  and 
laid  waste  each  other,  tapped  one  another  for  blood  and  gold, 
rendered  it  impossible  for  the  North  to  assert  herself  and 
spread  her  influence  in  Europe. 

One  could  feel  at  the  Meeting,  though  very  faintly,  that 


ADOLESCENCE  123 

the  Swedes  and  Norwegians  took  more  actual  pleasure  in 
each  other,  and  regarded  themselves  as  to  a  greater  extent 
united  than  either  of  them  looked  upon  themselves  as  united 
with  the  Danes,  who  were  outside  the  political  Union.  I 
was  perhaps  the  only  Dane  present  who  fancied  I  detected 
this,  but  when  I  mentioned  what  I  thought  I  observed  to  a 
gifted  young  Norwegian,  so  far  was  he  from  contradicting 
me  that  he  merely  replied:  "Have  you  noticed  that, 
too?" 

Notwithstanding,  during  the  whole  of  the  Meeting,  one 
constantly  heard  expressed  on  every  hand  the  conviction  that 
if  Germany  were  shortly  to  declare  war  against  Denmark — 
which  no  one  doubted — the  Swedes  and  Norwegians  would 
most  decidedly  not  leave  the  Danes  in  the  lurch.  The 
promise  was  given  oftener  than  it  was  asked.  Only,  of 
course,  it  was  childish  on  the  part  of  those  present  at  the 
Meeting  to  regard  such  promises,  given  by  the  leaders  of 
the  students,  and  by  the  students  themselves  in  festive  mood, 
as  binding  on  the  nations  and  their  statesmen. 

I  did  not  make  any  intellectually  inspiring  acquaintances 
through  the  Meeting,  although  I  was  host  to  two  Upsala 
students;  neither  of  them,  however,  interested  me.  I  got 
upon  a  friendly  footing  through  mutual  intellectual  interests 
with  Carl  von  Bergen,  later  so  well  known  as  an  author,  he, 
like  myself,  worshipping  philosophy  and  hoping  to  contribute 
to  intellectual  progress.  Carl  von  Bergen  was  a  self-confi- 
dent, ceremonious  Swede,  who  had  read  a  great  many  books. 
At  that  time  he  was  a  new  Rationalist,  w^hich  seemed  to  prom- 
ise one  point  of  interest  in  common;  but  he  was  a  follower  of 
the  Bostrom  philosophy,  and  as  such  an  ardent  Theist.  At 
this  point  we  came  into  collision,  my  researches  and  reflec- 
tions constantly  tending  to  remove  me  farther  from  a  belief 
in  any  God  outside  the  world,  so  that  after  the  Meeting  Carl 
von  Bergen  and  I  exchanged  letters  on  Theism  and  Panthe- 
ism, which  assumed  the  width  and  thickness  of  treatises.  For 
very  many  years  the  Swedish  essayist  and  I  kept  up  a  friendly, 
though  intermittent  intercourse.  Meanwhile  von  Bergen, 
whose  good  qualities  included  neither  character  nor  original- 
ity, inclined,  as  years  went  on,  more  and  more  towards  Con- 


124  REMINISCENCES 

servatism,  and  at  forty  years  old  he  had  attained  to  a  worship 
of  what  he  had  detested,  and  a  detestation  of  what  he  had 
worshipped.  His  vanity  simultaneously  assumed  extraordi- 
nary proportions.  In  a  popular  Encyclopaedia,  which  he  took 
over  when  the  letter  B  was  to  be  dealt  with,  and,  curiously 
enough,  disposed  of  shortly  afterwards,  von  Bergen  was 
treated  no  less  in  detail  than  Buonaparte.  He  did  battle  with 
some  of  the  best  men  and  women  in  Sweden,  such  as  Ellen 
Key  and  Knut  Wicksell,  who  did  not  fail  to  reply  to  him. 
When  in  1889  his  old  friend  from  the  Students'  Meeting 
gave  some  lectures  on  Goethe  in  Stockholm,  he  immediately 
afterwards  directed  some  poor  opposition  lectures  against 
him,  which  neither  deserved  nor  received  any  reply.  It  had 
indeed  become  a  specialty  of  his  to  give  "opposition  lec- 
tures." When  he  died,  some  few  years  later,  what  he  had 
written  was  promptly  forgotten. 

There  was  another  young  Swedish  student  whom  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  for  the  first  time  at  the  Students'  Meet- 
ing, towards  whom  I  felt  more  and  more  attracted,  and  who 
eventually  became  my  friend.  This  was  the  darling  of  the 
gods,  Carl  Snoilsky.  At  a  fete  in  Rosenborg  Park,  amongst 
the  songs  was  one  which,  with  my  critical  scent,  I  made  a 
note  of.  It  was  by  the  then  quite  unknown  young  Count 
Snoilsky,  and  it  was  far  from  possessing  the  rare  qualities, 
both  of  pith  and  form,  that  later  distinguished  his  poetry; 
but  it  was  a  poet's  handiwork,  a  troubadour  song  to  the  Dan- 
ish woman,  meltingly  sweet,  and  the  writer  of  It  was  a  youth 
of  aristocratic  bearing,  regular,  handsome  features,  and 
smooth  brown  hair,  a  regular  Adonis.  The  following  year 
he  came  again,  drawn  by  strong  cords  to  Christian  Wln- 
ther's  home,  loving  the  old  poet  like  a  son,  as  Swinburne 
loved  Victor  Hugo,  sitting  at  Mistress  Julie  WInther's  feet 
in  affectionate  admiration  and  semi-adoration,  although  she 
was  half  a  century  old  and  treated  him  as  a  mother  does  a 
favourite  child.  "* 

It  was  several  years,  however,  before  there  was  any  act- 
ual friendship  between  the  Swedish  poet  and  myself.  He 
called  upon  me  one  day  In  my  room  In  Copenhagen,  looking 
exceedingly  handsome   In   a   tight-fitting  waistcoat  of  blue 


ADOLESCENCE  125 

quilted  silk.  In  the  absence  of  the  Swedo-Norwegian  Am- 
bassador, he  was  Charge  d'Affaires  in  Copenhagen,  after,  in 
his  capacity  as  diplomatic  attache,  having  been  stationed  in 
various  parts  of  the  world  and,  amongst  others,  for  some 
time  in  Paris.  He  could  have  no  warmer  admirer  of  his  first 
songs  than  myself,  and  we  very  frequently  spent  our  evenings 
together  in  Bauer's  wine  room — talking  over  everything  in 
Scandinavian,  English,  or  French  literature  which  both  of  us 
had  enthusiastically  and  critically  read.  On  many  points  our 
verdicts  were  agreed. 

There  came  a  pause  In  Snoilsky's  productive  activity;  he 
was  depressed.  It  was  generally  said,  although  it  sounded 
improbable,  that  he  had  had  to  promise  his  wife's  relations 
to  give  up  publishing  verse,  they  regarding  it  as  unfitting  the 
dignity  of  a  noble.  In  any  case,  he  was  at  that  time  suffer- 
ing under  a  marriage  that  meant  to  him  the  deprivation  of 
the  freedom  without  which  it  was  impossible  to  write.  Still, 
he  never  mentioned  these  strictly  personal  matters.  But  one 
evening  that  we  were  together,  Snoilsky  was  so  overcome  by 
the  thought  of  his  lack  of  freedom  that  tears  suddenly  began 
to  run  down  his  cheeks.  He  was  almost  incapable  of  con- 
trolling himself  again,  and  when  we  went  home  together  late 
at  night,  poured  out  a  stream  of  melancholy,  half-despairing 
remarks. 

A  good  eighteen  months  later  we  met  again  in  Stock- 
holm ;  Snoilsky  was  dignified  and  collected.  But  when,  a  few 
years  later,  so-called  public  opinion  in  Sweden  began  to  rave 
against  the  poet  for  the  passion  for  his  second  wife  which  so 
long  made  him  an  exile  from  his  country,  I  often  thought  of 
that  evening. 

As  years  passed  by,  his  outward  bearing  became  more 
and  more  reserved  and  a  trifle  stiff,  but  he  was  the  same  at 
heart,  and  no  one  who  had  known  him  In  the  heyday  of  his 
youth  could  cease  to  love  him. 

VII. 

A  month  after  the  Students'  Meeting,  at  the  Invitation 
of  my  friend  Jens  Paludan-Miiller,  I  spent  a  few  weeks  at  his 


126  REMINISCENCES 

home  at  Nykjobing,  in  the  Island  of  Falster,  where  his  fa- 
ther, Caspar  Paludan-Muller,  the  historian,  was  at  the  time 
head  master  of  the  Grammar-school.  Those  were  rich  and 
beautiful  weeks,  which  I  always  remembered  later  with  grati- 
tude. 

The  stern  old  father  with  his  leonine  head  and  huge 
eyebrows  Impressed  one  by  his  earnestness  and  perspicacity, 
somewhat  shut  off  from  the  world  as  he  was  by  hereditary 
deafness.  The  dignified  mistress  of  the  house  likewise  be- 
longed to  a  family  that  had  made  its  name  known  in  Danish 
literature.  She  was  a  Rosenstand-Goiske.  Jens  was  a  cor- 
dial and  attentive  host,  the  daughters  were  all  of  them  women 
out  of  the  ordinary,  and  bore  the  impress  of  belonging  to  a 
family  of  the  highest  culture  in  the  country;  the  eldest  was 
womanly  and  refined,  the  second,  with  her  Roman  type  of 
beauty  and  bronze-coloured  head,  lovely  in  a  manner  pecu- 
liarly her  own ;  the  youngest,  as  yet,  was  merely  an  amiable 
young  girl.  The  girls  would  have  liked  to  get  away  from 
the  monotony  of  provincial  life,  and  their  release  came  when 
their  father  was  appointed  to  a  professorship  at  Copenhagen 
University.  There  was  an  ease  of  manner  and  a  tone  of 
mental  distinction  pervading  the  whole  family.  Two  young, 
handsome  Counts  Reventlow  were  being  brought  up  in  the 
house,  still  only  half-grown  boys  at  that  time,  but  who  were 
destined  later  to  win  honourable  renown.  One  of  them,  the 
editor  of  his  ancestress's  papers,  kept  up  his  acquaintance 
with  the  guest  he  had  met  in  the  Paludan-Muller  home  for 
over  forty  years. 

There  often  came  to  the  house  a  young  Dane  from  Car- 
acas In  Venezuela,  of  unusual,  almost  feminine  beauty,  with 
eyes  to  haunt  one's  dreams.  He  played  uncommonly  well, 
was  Irresistibly  gentle  and  emotional.  After  a  stay  of  a  few 
years  In  Denmark  he  returned  to  his  native  place.  The  pre- 
viously mentioned  Gronbeck,  with  his  pretty  sister,  and  other 
young  people  from  the  town,  were  frequent  guests  during  the 
holidays,  and  the  days  passed  in  games,  music,  wander- 
ings about  the  garden,  and  delightful  excursions  to  the 
woods. 

On  every  side  I  encountered  beauty  of  some  description. 


ADOLESCENCE  127 

I  said  to  Jens  one  day:  "  One  kind  of  beauty  is  the  glow 
which  the  sun  of  Youth  casts  over  the  figure,  and  it  vanishes 
as  soon  as  the  sun  sets.  Another  is  stamped  into  shape  from 
within;  it  is  Mind's  expression,  and  will  remain  as  long  as 
the  mind  remains  vigorous.  But  the  supremcst  beauty  of 
all  is  in  the  unison  of  the  two  harmonies,  which  are  contend- 
ing for  existence.  In  the  bridal  night  of  this  supremest 
beauty,  Mind  and  Nature  melt  into  one." 

A  few  years  later  the  old  historian  was  called  upon  to 
publish  the  little  book  on  Gulland,  with  its  short  biography 
prefixed,  as  a  memorial  to  his  only  son,  fallen  at  Sankelmark, 
and  again,  a  few  years  later,  to  edit  Frederik  Nutzhorn's 
translation  of  Apuleius  in  memory  of  his  son's  friend,  his 
elder  daughter's  fiance.  During  the  preparation  of  these  two 
little  books,  our  relations  became  more  intimate,  and  our 
friendship  continued  unbroken  until  in  the  month  of  Febru- 
ary, 1872,  a  remark  in  one  of  my  defensive  articles  caused 
him  to  take  up  his  pen  against  me.  My  remark  was  to  the 
effect  that  there  were  men  of  the  same  opinions  as  myself  even 
among  the  priests  of  the  established  church.  Caspar  Palu- 
dan-Miiller  declared  it  my  public  duty  to  mention  of  whom  I 
was  thinking  at  the  time,  since  such  a  traitor  was  not  to  be 
tolerated  in  the  lap  of  the  Church.  As  I  very  naturally  did 
not  wish  to  play  the  part  of  informer,  I  incurred,  by  my  si- 
lence, the  suspicion  of  having  spoken  without  foundation. 
The  Danish  man  whom  I  had  in  my  thoughts,  and  who  had 
confided  his  opinions  to  me,  was  still  aliv^e  at  the  time.  This 
was  the  late  Dean  Ussing,  at  one  time  priest  at  Manager,  a 
man  of  an  extraordinarily  refined  and  amiable  disposition, 
secretly  a  convinced  adherent  of  Ernest  Renan.  A 
Norwegian  priest,  who  holds  the  same  opinions,  Is  still 
living. 

VIII. 

In  August,  1863,  on  a  walking  tour  through  North 
Sjaelland,  Julius  Lange  Introduced  me  to  his  other  celebrated 
uncle,  Frederik  Paludan-Miiller,  whose  Summer  residence 
was  at  Fredensborg.     In  appearance  he  was  of  a  very  differ- 


128  REMINISCENCES 

ent  type  from  his  brother  Caspar.  The  distinguishing  mark 
of  the  one  was  power,  of  the  other,  nobihty.  For  Frederik 
Paludan-Miiller  as  a  poet  I  cherished  the  profoundest  admi- 
ration. He  belonged  to  the  really  great  figures  of  Danish 
literature,  and  his  works  had  so  fed  and  formed  my  inmost 
nature  that  I  should  scarcely  be  the  same  had  I  not  read 
them.  It  was  unalloyed  happiness  to  have  access  to  his  house 
and  be  allowed  to  enjoy  his  company.  It  was  a  distinction 
to  be  one  of  the  few  he  vouchsafed  to  take  notice  of  and  one 
of  the  fewer  still  in  whose  future  he  interested  himself.  Do 
the  young  men  of  Denmark  to-day,  I  wonder,  admire 
creative  intellects  as  they  were  admired  by  some  few  of 
us  then?  It  is  in  so  far  hardly  possible,  since  there  is 
not  at  the  present  time  any  Northern  artist  with  such  a 
hall-mark  of  refined  delicacy  as  Frederik  Paludan-Miiller 
possessed. 

The  young  people  who  came  to  his  house  might  have 
wished  him  a  younger,  handsomer  wife,  and  thought  his 
choice,  Mistress  Charite,  as,  curiously  enough,  she  was  called, 
not  quite  worthy  of  the  poet.  Unjustly  so,  since  he  himself 
was  perfectly  satisfied  with  her,  and  was  apparently  wholly 
absorbed  by  a  union  which  had  had  its  share  in  isolating  him 
from  the  world.  His  wife  was  even  more  theologically  in- 
clined than  himself,  and  appeared  anonymously — without 
anyone  having  a  suspicion  of  the  fact — as  a  religious  au- 
thoress. Still,  she  was  exceedingly  kind  to  anyone,  regardless 
of  their  private  opinions,  who  had  found  favour  in  the  poet's 
eyes. 

The  dry  little  old  lady  was  the  only  one  of  her  sex  with 
whom  Paludan-Miiller  was  intimate.  He  regarded  all  other 
women,  however  young  and  beautiful,  as  mere  works  of  art. 
But  his  delight  in  them  was  charming  in  him,  just  because 
of  its  freedom  from  sense.  One  evening  that  he  was  giving 
a  little  banquet  in  honour  of  a  Swedish  lady  painter,  named 
Ribbing,  a  woman  of  rare  beauty,  he  asked  her  to  stand  by 
the  side  of  the  bust  of  the  Venus  of  Milo,  that  the  resem- 
blance, which  really  existed  between  them,  might  be  appar- 
ent. His  innocent,  enthusiastic  delight  in  the  likeness  was 
most  winning. 


ADOLESCENCE  129 

IX. 

Two  other  celebrated  personages  whom  I  met  for  the 
first  time  a  little  later  were  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  and  Mag- 
dalene Thoresen. 

I  became  acquainted  with  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  at  the 
Nutzhorns,  their  son,  Ditlev,  being  a  passionate  admirer  of 
his.  His  King  Sverre  of  1861  had  been  a  disappointment, 
but  Sigurd  Slembe  of  the  following  year  was  new  and  great 
poetry,  and  fascinated  young  people's  minds.  Bjornson,  so- 
cially, as  in  literature,  was  a  strong  figure,  self-confident, 
loud-voiced,  outspoken,  unique  in  all  that  he  said,  and  in  the 
weight  which  he  knew  how  to  impart  to  all  his  utterances. 
His  manner  jarred  a  little  on  the  more  subdued  Copenhagen 
style;  the  impression  he  produced  was  that  of  a  great,  broad- 
shouldered,  and  very  much  spoilt  child.  In  the  press,  all  that 
he  wrote  and  did  was  blazoned  abroad  by  the  leading  critics 
of  the  day,  who  had  a  peculiar,  challenging  way  of  praising 
Bjornson,  although  his  ability  was  not  seriously  disputed  by 
anyone.  The  National  Liberal  Leaders,  Alfred  Hage,  Carl 
Ploug,  etc.,  had  opened  their  hearts  and  houses  to  him.  It 
is  said  that  at  one  time  Lleiberg  had  held  back;  the  well-bred 
old  man,  a  little  shocked  by  the  somewhat  noisy  ways  of 
the  young  genius,  is  said  to  have  expressed  to  his  friend  Krie- 
ger  some  scruples  at  inviting  him  to  his  house.  To  Krieger's 
jesting  remark:  "  What  does  it  matter!  He  is  a  young  man; 
let  him  rub  off  his  corners!  "  Heiberg  is  credited  with  hav- 
ing replied :  "  Very  true  !  Let  him  !  but  not  in  my  drawing- 
room!  That  is  not  a  place  where  people  may  rub  anything 
off."  Heiberg's  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  admired  him  ex- 
ceedingly, and  was  undoubtedly  very  much  fascinated  by 
him. 

In  a  circle  of  younger  people,  Bjornson  was  a  better 
talker  than  conversationalist.  Sometimes  he  came  out  with 
decidedly  rash  expressions  of  opinion,  conclusiv^ely  dismissing 
a  question,  for  instance,  with  severe  verdicts  over  Danish 
music,  Heyse's  excepted,  judgments  which  were  not  supported 
by  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  subject  at  issue.  But  much  of 
what  he  said  revealed  the  intellectual  ruler,  whose  self-confi- 


130  REMINISCENCES 

dence  might  now  and  again  Irritate,  but  at  bottom  was  justi- 
fied. He  narrated  exceptionally  well,  with  picturesque  ad- 
jectives, long  remembered  in  correct  Copenhagen,  spoke  of 
the  yellow  howl  of  wolves,  and  the  like.  Take  it  all  in  all, 
his  attitude  was  that  of  a  conqueror. 

He  upheld  poetry  that  was  actual  and  palpable,  conse- 
quently had  little  appreciation  for  poetry,  that,  like  Paludan- 
Miiller's,  was  the  perfection  of  thought  and  form,  and  boldly 
disapproved  of  my  admiration  for  it. 

X. 

It  was  likewise  through  Frederik  Nutzhorn  that  I,  when 
a  young  beginner  in  the  difficult  art  of  life,  became  acquainted 
with  Madame  Magdalene  Thoresen.  Our  first  conversa- 
tion took  place  in  the  open  air  one  Summer  day,  at  the 
Klampenborg  bathing  establishment.  Although  Magdalene 
Thoresen  was  at  that  time  at  least  forty-six  years  old,  her 
warm,  brownish  complexion  could  well  stand  Inspection  in  the 
strongest  light.  Her  head,  with  Its  heavy  dark  hair,  was 
Southern  In  its  beauty,  her  mouth  as  fresh  as  a  young  girl's; 
she  had  brilliant  and  very  striking  eyes.  Her  figure  was  in- 
clined to  be  corpulent,  her  walk  a  trifle  heavy,  her  bearing 
and  movements  full  of  youth  and  life. 

She  was  remarkably  communicative,  open  and  warm- 
hearted, with  a  propensity  towards  considerable  extrava- 
gance of  speech.  Originally  incited  thereto  by  Bjornson's 
peasant  stories,  she  had  then  published  her  first  tales.  The 
Student  and  Sipie's  Sto7-y,  which  belonged,  half  to  Norwe- 
gian, half  to  Danish  literature,  and  had  been  well  received. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  fisherman  at  Frederlcia,  and  after 
having  known  both  the  buffets  and  the  smiles  of  Fortune, 
had  come  to  be  on  terms  of  friendship  with  many  men  and 
women  of  importance,  now  belonging  to  the  recognised  per- 
sonalities of  the  day.  She  was  also  very  well  received  and 
much  appreciated  In  the  Helberg  circle. 

In  comparison  with  her,  a  woman,  I  might  have  been 
called  erudite  and  well-informed.  Her  own  knowledge  was 
very  desultory.     She  was  interested  in  me  on  account  of  my 


ADOLESCENCE  131 

youth,  and  her  warm  interest  attached  me  to  her  for 
the  next  live  years, — as  long,  that  is,  as  she  remained  in 
Denmark.  She  very  soon  began  to  conlide  in  me,  and  al- 
though she  scarcely  did  so  unreservedly,  still,  no  woman, 
at  least  no  mature  and  gifted  woman,  had  told  me  so  much 
about  herself  before.  She  was  a  woman  who  had  felt 
strongly  and  thought  much;  she  had  lived  a  rich,  and  event- 
ful life;  but  all  that  had  befallen  her  she  romanticised.  Her 
poetic  tendency  was  towards  the  sublime.  She  was  abso- 
lutely veracious,  and  did  not  really  mean  to  adorn  her  tales, 
but  partly  from  pride,  partly  from  whimsicality,  she  saw 
everything,  from  greatest  to  least,  through  beautifully  col- 
oured magnifying-glasses,  so  that  a  translation  of  her  com- 
munications into  every-day  language  became  a  very  difficult 
matter,  and  when  an  every-day  occurrence  was  suspected 
through  the  narrative,  the  same  could  not  be  reproduced  in 
an  every-day  light,  and  according  to  an  every-day  standard, 
without  wounding  the  narrator  to  the  quick.  For  these  rea- 
sons I  never  ventured  to  include  among  my  Collected  Essays 
a  little  biographical  sketch  of  her  (written  just  as  she  herself 
had  idealised  its  events  to  me),  one  of  the  first  articles  I 
had  printed. 

She  saw  strong  natures,  rich  and  deep  natures,  in  lives 
that  were  meagre  or  unsuccessful.  Again,  from  lack  of  per- 
spicacity, she  sometimes  saw  nothing  but  inefficiency  in  people 
with  wide  intellectual  gifts;  thus,  she  considered  that  her  son- 
in-law,  Henrik  Ibsen,  who  at  that  time  had  not  become  either 
known  or  celebrated,  had  very  imperfect  poetic  gifts. 
"  What  he  writes  is  as  flat  as  a  drawing,"  she  would  say.  Or 
she  would  remark:  "He  ought  to  be  more  than  a  collaborator 
of  Kierkegaard."  It  was  only  much  later  that  she  discov- 
ered his  genius.  Bjornson,  on  the  other  hand,  she  wor- 
shipped with  an  enthusiastic  love;  it  was  a  trouble  to  her  that 
just  about  this  time  he  had  become  very  cool  to  her. 

Vague  feelings  did  not  repel  her,  but  all  keen  and 
pointed  intelligence  did.  She  was  whollv  and  entirely  roman- 
tic. Gallicism  she  objected  to;  the  clarity  of  the  French 
seemed  to  her  superficial ;  she  saw  depth  in  the  reserved  and 
taciturn  Northern,  particularly  the  Norwegian,  nature.     She 


132  REMINISCENCES 

had  groped  her  way  forward  for  a  long  time  without  realis- 
ing what  her  gifts  really  were.  Her  husband,  who  had  done 
all  he  could  to  assist  her  education,  had  even  for  a  time  im- 
agined, and  perhaps  persuaded  her,  that  her  gifts  lay  in  the 
direction  of  Baggesen's.  Now,  however,  she  had  found  her 
vocation  and  her  path  in  literature. 

On  all  questions  of  thought,  pure  and  simple,  she  was 
extremely  vague.  She  was  a  Christian  and  a  Heathen  with 
equal  sincerity,  a  Christian  with  her  overflowing  warmheart- 
edness, with  her  honest  inclination  to  believe,  a  Heathen  in 
her  averseness  to  any  negation  of  either  life  or  Nature.  She 
used  to  say  that  she  loved  Christ  and  Eros  equally,  or  rather, 
that  to  her,  they  both  meant  the  same.  To  her,  Christianity 
was  the  new,  the  modern,  in  contrast  to  the  rationalism  of  a 
past  age,  so  that  Christianity  and  modern  views  of  life  in  gen- 
eral merged  in  her  eyes  into  one  unity. 

Hers  was  a  deeply  feminine  nature,  and  a  productive 
nature.  Her  fertile  character  was  free  from  all  taint  of 
over-estimation  of  herself.  She  only  rev^ealed  a  healthy  and 
pleasing  self-satisfaction  when  she  imagined  that  some  per- 
son wished  to  set  up  himself  or  herself  over  her  and  misjudge 
acts  or  events  in  her  life  with  respect  to  which  she  con- 
sidered herself  the  only  person  qualified  to  judge.  At  such 
times  she  would  declare  in  strong  terms  that  by  her  own  un- 
assisted strength'^she  had  raised  herself  from  a  mean  and  un- 
protected position  to  the  level  of  the  best  men  and  women  of 
her  day.  Herself  overflowing  with  emotion,  and  of  a  noble 
disposition,  siie  craved  affection  and  goodwill,  and  gave  back 
a  hundredfold  what  she  received.  If  she  felt  herself  the 
object  of  cold  and  piercing  observation,  she  would  be  silent 
and  unhappy,  but  if  she  herself  were  at  ease  and  encountered 
no  coolness,  she  was  all  geniality  and  enthusiasm,  though 
not  to  such  an  extent  that  her  enthusiasm  ceased  to  be 
critical. 

She  could  over-value  and  under-value  people,  but  was 
at  the  same  time  a  keen,  in  fact  a  marvellous  psychologist, 
and  sometimes  astonished  one  by  the  pertinent  things  she  said, 
surprising  one  by  her  accurate  estimate  of  difficult  psycholog- 
ical cases.     For  instance,  she  understood  as  few  others  did  the 


ADOLESCENCE  133 

great  artist,  the  clever  coquette,  and  the  old  maid  in  Hei- 
berg's  wife,  the  actress. 

She  had  no  moral  prejudices,  and  had  written  Signe's 
Story  as  a  protest  against  conventional  morality ;  but  she  was 
none  the  less  thoroughly  permeated  by  Christian  and  humane 
ideas  of  morality,  and  there  was  no  element  of  rebellion  in 
her  disposition. 

On  the  whole,  she  was  more  a  woman  than  an  authoress. 
Her  nature  was  tropical  in  comparison  with  Mrs.  Charite 
Paludan-Miiller's  North  Pole  nature.  She  lived,  not  in  a 
world  of  ideas  remote  from  reality,  but  in  a  world  of  feeling 
and  passion,  full  of  affection  and  admiration,  jealousy  and 
dislike.  Being  a  woman,  she  was  happy  at  every  expression 
of  pleasure  over  one  of  her  books  that  she  heard  or  read  of, 
and  liked  to  fancy  that  the  solitary  young  man  who  sent  her 
an  enthusiastic  letter  of  thanks  was  only  one  of  hundreds  who 
thought  as  he  did.  Like  a  woman,  also,  she  was  hurt  by  indif- 
ference, which,  however,  her  warm  heart  rarely  encountered. 

This  richly  endowed  woman  made  me  appear  quite  new 
to  myself,  inasmuch  as,  in  conversations  with  my  almost 
maternal  friend,  I  began  to  think  T  was  of  a  somewhat  cold 
nature,  a  nature  which  in  comparison  with  hers  seemed 
rather  dry,  unproductive  and  unimaginative,  a  creature  with 
thoughts  ground  keen. 

Magdalene  Thoresen  compared  me  one  day  to  an  un- 
lighted  glass  candelabra,  hanging  amid  several  others  all 
lighted  up,  which  had  the  gleam  of  the  fire  on  the  countless 
facets  of  its  crystals,  but  was  itself  nothing  but  cold,  smooth, 
polished,  prisms. 

Thus  during  my  association  with  Magdalene  Thoresen  I 
came  to  regard  myself  in  a  new  light,  M'hen  I  saw  myself  with 
her  eyes,  and  I  was  struck  more  than  ever  by  how  different 
the  verdicts  over  me  would  be  were  my  various  friends  and 
acquaintances  each  to  describe  me  ns  T  appeared  to  them.  To 
Magdalene  Thoresen  I  was  all  mind,  to  others  all  passion,  to 
others  again  all  will.  At  the  Nutzhorns'  T  went  by  the  name 
of  the  modest  B.,  elsewhere  I  was  deemed  conceitedly  ambi- 
tious, some  people  thought  me  of  a  mild  temper,  others  saw 
in  me  a  quarrelsome  unbeliever. 


134  REMINISCENCES 

All  this  was  a  challenge  to  me  to  come  to  a  clear  under- 
standing about  my  real  nature.  The  fruits  of  my  work,  must 
show  me  what  sort  of  man  I  was. 

XI. 

I  continued  my  legal  studies  with  patient  persistence, 
and  gradually,  after  having  made  myself  master  of  Civil 
Proceedings,  I  worked  my  way  through  the  whole  of  the 
juridic  system,  Roman  Law  excluded.  But  the  industry  de- 
voted to  this  was  purely  mechanical.  I  pursued  my  other 
studies,  on  the  contrary,  with  delight,  even  tried  to  produce 
something  myself,  and  during  the  last  months  of  1862  elabo- 
rated a  very  long  paper  on  Romeo  and  Juliet,  chiefly  concern- 
ing Itself  with  the  fundamental  problems  of  the  tragedy,  as 
interpreted  in  the  i^^sthetics  of  the  day;  It  has  been  lost,  like 
so  much  else  that  I  wrote  during  those  years.  I  sent  it  to 
Professor  Brochner  and  asked  his  opinion  of  it. 

Simultaneously  I  began  to  work  upon  a  paper  on  the 
Idea  of  Fate  in  Greek  Tragedy,  a  response  to  the  Prize  ques- 
tion of  the  year  1 862-1 863,  and  on  December  31,  1862, 
had  finished  the  Introduction,  which  was  published  for  the 
first  time  about  six  years  later,  under  the  title  The  Idea  of 
Tragic  Fate.  Appended  to  this  was  a  laborious  piece  of 
work  dealing  with  the  conceptions  of  Fate  recorded  in  all 
the  Greek  tragedies  that  have  come  down  to  us.  This  occu- 
pied the  greater  part  of  the  next  six  months. 

The  published  Introduction  gives  a  true  picture  of  the 
stage  of  my  development  then,  partly  because  it  shows  the 
manner  in  which  I  had  worked  together  external  influences, 
the  Kierkegaardian  thoughts  and  the  Hegelian  method, 
partly  because  with  no  little  definiteness  it  reveals  a  funda- 
mental characteristic  of  my  nature  and  a  fundamental 
tendency  of  my  mind,  since  it  is,  throughout,  a  pro- 
test against  the  ethical  conception  of  poetry  and  is  a  proof 
of  how  moral  Ideas,  when  they  become  part  of  an  artistic 
whole,  lose  their  peculiar  stamp  and  assume  another  aspect. 

In  November,  1862,  I  joined  a  very  large  recently 
started  undergraduates'  society,  which  met  once  a  fortnight 


ADOLESCENCE  135 

at  Borch's  College  to  hear  lectures  and  afterwards  discuss 
them  together.  It  numbered  full  fifty  members,  amongst 
them  most  of  the  men  of  that  generation  who  afterwards  dis- 
tinguished themselves  in  Denmark.  The  later  known  politi- 
cian, Octavius  Hansen,  was  Speaker  of  the  Meetings,  and 
even  then  seemed  made  for  the  post.  His  parliamentary 
bearing  was  unrivalled.  It  was  not  for  nothing  he  was  Eng- 
lish on  the  mother's  side.  He  looked  uncommonly  handsome 
on  the  platform,  with  his  unmoved  face,  his  beautiful 
eyes,  and  his  brown  beard,  curled  like  that  of  Pericles 
in  the  Greek  busts.  He  was  good-humoured,  just,  and 
well-informed.  Of  the  numerous  members,  Wilhelm  Thom- 
sen  the  philologist  was  certainly  the  most  prominent,  and 
the  only  one  whom  I  later  on  came  to  value,  that  is, 
for  purely  personal  reasons;  in  daily  association  it  was 
only  once  in  a  way  that  Thomsen  could  contribute  any- 
thing from  his  special  store  of  knowledge.  One  day, 
when  we  had  been  discussing  the  study  of  cuneiform  in- 
scriptions, the  young  philologist  had  said,  half  in  jest,  half  in 
earnest:  "  If  a  stone  were  to  fall  down  from  the  Sun  with 
an  inscription  in  unknown  signs,  in  an  unknown  language, 
upon  it,  we  should  be  able  to  make  it  out," — a  remark  which 
I  called  to  mind  many  years  later  when  Thomsen  deciphered 
the  Ancient  Turkish  inscriptions  in  the  Mountains  of  Siberia. 

A  great  many  political  lectures  were  given.  I  gave  one 
on  Heiberg's  Esthetics. 

On  January  i,  1863,  I  received  a  New  Year's  letter 
from  Brochner,  in  which  he  wrote  that  the  essay  on  Romeo 
and  Juliet  had  so  impressed  him  that,  in  his  opinion,  no  one 
could  dispute  my  fitness  to  fill  the  Chair  of  ^Esthetics,  which 
in  the  nature  of  things  would  soon  be  vacant,  since  Hauch, 
at  his  advanced  age,  could  hardly  continue  to  occupy  it  very 
long. 

Thus  it  was  that  my  eager  patron  first  introduced  what 
became  a  wearisome  tangle,  lasting  a  whole  generation,  con- 
cerning my  claims  to  a  certain  post,  which  gradually  became 
in  my  life  what  the  French  call  une  scie,  an  irritating  puzzle, 
in  which  I  myself  took  no  part,  but  which  attached  itself  to 
my  name. 


136  REMINISCENCES 

That  letter  agitated  me  very  much;  not  because  at  so 
young  an  age  the  prospect  of  an  honourable  position  in  so- 
ciety was  held  out  to  me  by  a  man  who  was  in  a  position  to 
judge  of  my  fitness  for  it,  but  because  this  smiling  prospect  of 
an  official  post  was  in  my  eyes  a  snare  which  might  hold  me 
so  firmly  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  pursue  the  path  of  re- 
nunciation that  alone  seemed  to  me  to  lead  to  my  life's  goal. 
I  felt  myself  an  apostle,  but  an  apostle  and  a  professor  were  » 
very  far  apart.  I  certainly  remembered  that  the  Apostle 
Paul  had  been  a  tent-maker.  But  I  feared  that,  once  ap- 
pointed, I  should  lose  my  ideal  standard  of  life  and  sink  down 
into  insipid  mediocrity.  If  I  once  deviated  from  my  path,  I 
might  not  so  easily  find  it  again.  It  was  more  difficult  to 
resign  a  professorship  than  never  to  accept  it.  And,  once  a 
professor,  a  man  soon  got  married  and  settled  down  as  a 
citizen  of  the  state,  not  in  a  position  to  dare  anything.  To 
dispose  of  my  life  at  Brochner's  request  would  be  like  selling 
my  soul  to  the  Devil. 

So  I  replied  briefly  that  I  was  too  much  attached  to 
Hauch  to  be  able  or  willing  to  speculate  on  his  death.  But 
to  this  Brochner  very  logically  replied:  "  I  am  not  specu- 
lating on  his  death,  but  on  his  life,  for  the  longer  he  lives, 
the  better  you  will  be  prepared  to  be  his  successor." 

By  the  middle  of  June,  1 863,  the  prize  paper  was  copied 
out.  In  September  the  verdict  was  announced;  the  gold 
medal  was  awarded  to  me  with  a  laudatory  criticism.  The 
gold  medal  was  also  won  by  my  friend  Jens  Paludan-Miiller 
for  a  historic  paper,  and  in  October,  at  the  annual  Ceremony 
at  the  University,  we  were  presented  with  the  thin  medal 
bearing  the  figure  of  Athene,  which,  for  my  part,  being  in 
need  of  a  Winter  overcoat,  I  sold  next  day.  Clausen,  the 
Rector,  a  little  man  with  regular  features,  reserved  face  and 
smooth  white  hair,  said  to  us  that  he  hoped  this  might  prove 
the  first  fruits  of  a  far-reaching  activity  in  the  field  of  Danish 
literature.  But  what  gave  me  much  greater  pleasure  was 
that  I  was  shaken  hands  with  by  Monrad,  who  was  present 
as  Minister  for  Education.  Although  Clausen  was  well 
known,  both  as  a  theologian  and  an  important  National  Lib- 
eral, I  cared  nothing  for  him.     But  I  was  a  little  proud  of 


ADOLESCENCE  137 

Monrad's  hand-pressure,  for  his  political  liberality,  and  espe- 
cially his  tremendous  capacity  for  work,  compelled  respect, 
while  from  his  handsome  face  with  its  thoughtful,  command- 
ing forehead,  there  shone  the  evidence  of  transcendent  ability. 

XII. 

On  the  morning  of  November  15th,  1863,  Julius  Langc 
and  I  went  together  to  offer  our  congratulations  to  Frederik 
Nutzhorn,  whose  birthday  it  was.  His  sisters  received  me 
with  their  usual  cheerfulness,  but  their  father,  the  old  doctor, 
remarked  as  I  entered:  "You  come  with  grave  thoughts 
in  your  mind,  too,"  for  the  general  uneasiness  occasioned 
by  Frederik  VI I. 's  state  of  health  was  reflected  in  my  face. 
There  was  good  reason  for  anxiety  concerning  all  the  future 
events  of  which  an  unfavourable  turn  of  his  illness  might  be 
the  signal. 

I  went  home  with  Julius  Lange,  who  read  a  few  wild 
fragments  of  his  "  System  "  to  me.  This  turned  upon  the 
contrasting  ideas  of  Contemplation  and  Sympathy,  corre- 
sponding to  the  inhaling  and  exhaling  of  the  breath;  the 
resting-point  of  the  breathing  was  the  moment  of  actual 
consciousness,  etc. ;  altogether  very  young,  curious,  and 
confused. 

In  the  afternoon  came  the  news  of  the  King's  death.  In 
the  evening,  at  the  Students'  Union,  there  was  great  com- 
motion and  much  anxiety.  There  were  rumours  of  a 
change  of  Ministry,  of  a  Bluhme-David-Ussing  Ministry', 
and  of  whether  the  new  King  would  be  willing  to  sign 
the  Constitution  from  which  people  childishly  expected  the 
final  incorporation  of  Slesvig  into  Denmark.  That  even- 
ing I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  poet  Christian  Richardt, 
who  told  me  that  he  had  noticed  my  face  before  he  knew  my 
name.  Julius  Lange  was  exceedingly  exasperated  and  out 
of  spirits.  Ploug  went  down  the  stairs  looking  like  a  man 
whose  hopes  had  been  shattered,  and  w^hom  the  blow  had 
found  unprepared.  His  paper  had  persistently  sown  dis- 
trust of  the  Prince  of  Denmark. 

The  Proclamation  was  to  take  place  In  front  of  Chris- 


138  REMINISCENCES 

tiansborg  Castle  on  December  i6th,  at  11  o'clock.  I  was 
fetched  to  it  by  a  student  of  the  same  age,  the  present  Bishop 
Frederik  Nielsen.  The  latter  had  made  my  acquaintance 
when  a  Free-thinker,  but  fortunately  he  recognised  his  errors 
only  a  very  few  years  later,  and  afterwards  the  valiant  theo- 
logian wrote  articles  and  pamphlets  against  the  heretic  he 
had  originally  cultivated  for  holding  the  same  opinions 
as  himself.  There  is  hardly  anyone  in  Denmark  who  per- 
sists in  error;  people  recognise  their  mistakes  in  time,  before 
they  have  taken  harm  to  their  souls;  sometimes,  indeed,  so 
much  betimes  that  they  are  not  even  a  hindrance  to  their 
worldly  career. 

The  space  in  front  of  the  Castle  was  black  with  people, 
most  of  whom  were  in  a  state  of  no  little  excitement.  Hall, 
who  was  then  Prime  Minister,  stepped  out  on  the  balcony 
of  the  castle,  grave  and  upright,  and  said,  first  standing  with 
his  back  to  the  Castle,  then  looking  to  the  right  and  the  left, 
these  words :  "  King  Frederik  VII.  Is  dead.  Long  live 
King  Christian  IX!" 

Then  the  King  came  forward.  There  were  loud  shouts, 
doubtless  some  cries  of  "  Long  live  the  King,"  but  still  more 
and  louder  shouts  of:  "  The  Constitution  forever!  "  which 
were  by  no  means  loyally  Intended.  At  a  distance,  from 
the  Castle  balcony,  the  different  shouts  could,  of  course, 
not  be  distinguished.  As  the  King  took  them  all  to  be  shouts 
of  acclamation,  he  bowed  politely  several  times,  and  as  the 
shouts  continued  kissed  his  hand  to  right  and  left.  The  ef- 
fect was  not  what  he  had  Intended.  His  action  was  not  un- 
derstood as  a  simple-hearted  expression  of  pure  good-will. 
People  were  used  to  a  very  different  bearing  on  the  part  of 
their  King.  With  all  his  faults  and  foibles,  Frederik  VII. 
was  always  In  manner  the  Father  of  his  people;  always  the 
graceful  superior:  head  up  and  shoulders  well  back,  patron- 
Islngly  and  affectionately  waving  his  hand:  "Thank  you, 
my  children,  thank  you !  And  now  go  home  and  say  '  Good- 
morning  '  to  your  wives  and  children  from  the  King !  "  One 
could  not  Imagine  Frederik  VII.  bowing  to  the  people,  much 
less  kissing  his  hand  to  them. 

There  was  a  stormy  meeting  of  the  Students'  Union 


ADOLESCENCE  139 

that  evening.  Vilhelm  Rode  made  the  principal  speech  and 
caustically  emphasised  that  it  took  more  than  a  "  Kiss  of  the 
hand  and  a  parade  bow  "  to  win  the  hearts  of  the  Danish 
people.  The  new  dynasty,  the  head  of  which  had  been 
abused  for  years  by  the  National  Liberal  press,  especially 
in  The  Fatherland,  who  had  thrown  suspicion  of  German 
sympathies  on  the  heir-presumptive,  was  still  so  weak  that 
none  of  the  students  thought  it  necessary  to  take  much  notice 
of  the  change  of  sovereigns  that  had  taken  place.  This  was 
partly  because  since  P>ederik  VII's  time  people  had  been  ac- 
customed to  indiscriminate  free  speech  concerning  the  King's 
person — it  was  the  fashion  and  meant  nothing,  as  he  was  be- 
loved by  the  body  of  the  people — partly  because  what  had 
happened  was  not  regarded  as  irrevocable.  All  depended  on 
whether  the  King  signed  the  Constitution,  and  even  the  cool- 
est and  most  conservative,  who  considered  that  his  signing  it 
would  be  a  fatal  misfortune,  thought  it  possible  that  Chris- 
tian IX.  would  be  dethroned  if  he  did  not.  So  it  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  form  some  idea  of  how  the  Hotspurs  talked.  The 
whole  town  was  in  a  fever,  and  it  was  said  that  Prince  Oscar 
was  in  Scania,  ready  at  the  first  sign  to  cross  the  Sound  and 
allow  himself  to  be  proclaimed  King  on  behalf  of  Charles 
XV.  Men  with  Scandinavian  sympathies  hoped  for  this  solu- 
tion, by  means  of  which  the  three  kingdoms  would  have  been 
united  without  a  blow  being  struck. 

In  the  middle  of  the  meeting,  there  arrived  a  message 
from  Crone,  the  Head  of  Police,  which  was  delivered  ver- 
bally in  this  incredibly  irregular  form — that  the  Head  of 
Police  was  as  good  a  Scandinavian  as  anyone,  but  he  begged 
the  students  for  their  own  sakes  to  refrain  from  any 
kind  of  street  disturbance  that  would  oblige  him  to  In- 
terfere. 

I,  who  had  stood  on  the  open  space  In  front  of  the 
Castle,  lost  In  the  crowd,  and  In  the  evening  at  the  meeting 
of  the  students  was  auditor  to  the  passionate  utterances  let 
fall  there,  felt  my  mood  violently  swayed,  but  was  altogether 
undecided  with  regard  to  the  political  question,  the  compass 
of  which  I  could  not  fully  perceive.  I  felt  anxious  as  to 
what  the  attitude  of  foreign  powers  would  be  In  the  event 


I40  REMINISCENCES 

of  the  signing  of  the  Constitution.  Old  C.  N.  David  had 
said  in  his  own  home  that  if  the  matter  should  depend  on  him, 
which,  however,  he  hoped  it  would  not,  he  would  not  permit 
the  signing  of  the  Constitution,  were  he  the  only  man  in  Den- 
mark of  that  way  of  thinking,  since  by  so  doing  we  should 
lose  our  guarantee  of  existence,  and  get  two  enemies  instead 
of  one,  Russia  as  well  as  Germany. 

The  same  evening  I  wrote  down:  "  It  is  under  such 
circumstances  as  these  that  one  realises  how  difficult  it  is  to 
lead  a  really  ethical  existence.  I  am  not  far-sighted  enough 
to  perceive  what  would  be  the  results  of  that  which  to  me 
seems  desirable,  and  one  cannot  conscientiously  mix  one's  self 
up  in  what  one  does  not  understand.  Nevertheless,  as  I 
stood  in  the  square  in  front  of  the  Castle,  I  was  so  excited 
that  I  even  detected  in  myself  an  inclination  to  come  forward 
as  a  political  speaker,  greenhorn  though  I  be." 

XIII. 

On  the  1 8th  of  November,  the  fever  in  the  town  was  at 
its  height.  From  early  in  the  morning  the  space  in  front  of 
the  Castle  was  crowded  with  people.  Orla  Lehmann,  a 
Minister  at  the  time,  came  out  of  the  Castle,  made  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  shouted  again  and  again,  first  to  one 
side,  then  to  the  other: 

"  He  has  signed!     He  has  signed!  " 

He  did  not  say:     "  The  King." 

The  people  now  endured  seven  weeks  of  uninter- 
rupted change  and  kaleidoscopic  alteration  of  the  political 
situation.  Relations  with  all  foreign  powers,  and  even  with 
Sweden  and  Norway,  presented  a  different  aspect  to  the  Dan- 
ish public  every  week.  Sweden's  withdrawal  created  a  very 
bitter  impression;  the  public  had  been  induced  to  believe  that 
an  alliance  was  concluded.  Then  followed  the  "  pressure  " 
in  Copenhagen  by  the  emissaries  of  all  the  Powers,  to  induce 
the  Government  to  recall  the  November  Constitution,  then 
the  Czar's  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Augustenborg,  finally  the  oc- 
cupation of  Holstein  by  German  troops,  with  all  the  censure 
and  disgrace  that  the  Danish  army  had  to  endure,  for  Hoi- 


ADOLESCENCE  141 

stein  was  evacuated  without  a  blow  being  struck,  and  the 
Duke,  to  the  accompaniment  of  scorn  and  derision  heaped 
on  the  Danes,  was  proclaimed  in  all  the  towns  of  Hoi- 
stein. 

On  Christmas  Eve  came  tidings  of  the  convocation  of 
the  Senate,  simultaneously  with  a  change  of  Ministry  which 
placed  Monrad  at  the  head  of  the  country,  and  in  connection 
with  this  a  rumour  that  all  young  men  of  twenty-one  were 
to  be  called  out  at  once.  This  last  proved  to  be  Incorrect, 
and  the  minds  of  the  young  men  alternated  between  com- 
posure at  the  prospect  of  war  and  an  enthusiastic  desire  for 
war,  and  a  belief  that  there  would  be  no  war  at  all.  The 
first  few  days  In  January,  building  on  the  rumour  that  the 
last  note  from  England  had  promised  help  In  the  event  of 
the  Eider  being  passed,  people  began  to  hope  that  the  war 
might  be  avoided,  and  pinned  their  faith  to  Monrad's 
dictatorship. 

Frederik  Nutzhorn,  who  did  not  believe  there  would  be 
a  war,  started  on  a  visit  to  Rome;  Jens  Paludan-Miiller,  who 
had  been  called  out,  was  quartered  at  Rendsborg  until  the 
German  troops  marched  In;  Julius  Lange,  who,  as  he  had 
just  become  engaged,  did  not  wish  to  see  his  work  Interrupted 
and  his  future  prospects  delayed  by  the  war,  had  gone  to 
IsIIngen,  where  he  had  originally  made  the  acquaintance  of 
his  fiancee.  Under  these  circumstances,  as  a  twenty-one-year- 
old  student  who  had  completed  his  university  studies,  I  was 
anxious  to  get  my  examination  over  as  quickly  as  possible. 
At  the  end  of  1863  I  wrote  to  my  teacher,  Professor  Broch- 
ner,  who  had  promised  me  a  short  philosophical  summary 
as  a  preparation  for  the  University  test:  "  I  shall  sit  under 
a  conjunction  of  all  the  most  unfavourable  circumstances  pos- 
sible, since  for  more  than  a  month  my  head  has  been  so  full 
of  the  events  of  the  day  that  I  have  been  able  neither  to  read 
nor  think,  while  the  time  of  the  examination  Itself  promises 
to  be  still  more  disquiet.  Still,  I  dare  not  draw  back,  as 
I  should  then  risk — which  may  possibly  happen  In  any 
case — being  hindered  from  my  examination  by  being  called 
out  by  the  conscription  and  perhaps  come  to  lie  In  my 
grave  as  Studiosus  Instead  of  candidattis  magisteru,  which 


142  REMINISCENCES 

latter  looks  Infinitely  more  Impressive  and  Is  more  satisfying 
to  a  man  as  greedy  of  honour  as  Your  respectful  and  heartily 
affectionate,  etc." 

XIV. 

Shortly  before,  I  had  paid  my  first  visit  to  Professor 
Rasmus  Nielsen.  He  was  exceedingly  agreeable,  recognised 
me,  whom  perhaps  he  remembered  examining,  and  accorded 
me  a  whole  hour's  conversation.  He  was,  as  always,  alert 
and  fiery,  not  in  the  least  blase,  but  with  a  slight  suggestion 
of  charlatanism  about  him.  His  conversation  was  as  lively 
and  disconnected  as  his  lectures;  there  was  a  charm  In  the 
clear  glance  of  his  green  eyes,  a  look  of  genius  about  his  face. 
He  talked  for  a  long  time  about  Herbart,  whose  ^Esthetics, 
for  that  matter,  he  betrayed  little  knowledge  of,  then  of 
Hegel,  Helberg,  and  Kierkegaard.  To  my  Intense  surprise. 
he  opened  up  a  prospect,  conflicting  with  the  opinions  he  had 
publicly  advocated,  that  Science,  "  when  analyses  had  been 
carried  far  enough,"  might  come  to  prove  the  possibility  of 
miracles.  This  was  an  offence  against  my  most  sacred 
convictions. 

Nielsen  had  recently,  from  the  cathedra,  announced  his 
renunciation  of  the  Kierkegaard  standpoint  he  had  so  long 
maintained,  in  the  phrase:  "  The  Kierkegaard  theory  is  im- 
practicable"; he  had,  perhaps  Influenced  somewhat  by  the 
Queen  Dowager,  who  about  that  time  frequently  invited  him 
to  meet  Grundtvig,  drawn  nearer  to  Grundtvigian  ways  of 
thinking, — as  Brochner  sarcastically  remarked  about  him : 
"  The  farther  from  Kierkegaard,  the  nearer  to  the  Queen 
Dowager." 

In  the  midst  of  my  final  preparations  for  the  examina- 
tion, I  wrestled,  as  was  my  wont,  with  my  attempts  to  come 
to  a  clear  understanding  over  Duty  and  Life,  and  was  startled 
by  the  indescribable  irony  in  the  word  by  which  I  was  accus- 
tomed to  interpret  my  ethically  religious  endeavours, — 
Himmelsprtrt.^ 

*  Word  implying  one  who  attempts  to  spring  up  to  Heaven,  and  of 
course  falls  miserably  to  earth  again.  The  word,  in  ordinary  conversation, 
is  applied   to  anyone  tossed   in  a  blanket. 


ADOLESCENCE  143 

I  handed  in,  then,  my  request  to  be  allowed  to  sit  for  my 
Master  of  Arts  examination;  the  indefatigable  Brochner  had 
already  mentioned  the  matter  to  the  Dean  of  the  University, 
who  understood  the  examinee's  reasons  for  haste.  But  the 
University  moved  so  slowly  that  it  was  some  weeks  before  I 
received  the  special  paper  set  me,  which,  to  my  horror,  ran  as 
follows:  "Determine  the  correlation  between  the  pathetic 
and  the  symbolic  in  general,  in  order  by  that  means  to  eluci- 
date the  contrast  between  Shakespeare's  tragedies  and  Dante's 
Diviua  Commcdia,  together  with  the  possible  errors  into 
which  one  might  fall  through  a  one-sided  preponderance  of 
either  of  these  two  elements." 

This  paper,  which  had  been  set  by  R.  Nielsen,  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  purely  speculative  manner,  indifferent  to  all 
study  of  history,  in  which  ^^sthetics  were  at  that  time  pur- 
sued in  Copenhagen.  It  was,  moreover,  worded  with  un- 
pardonable carelessness;  it  was  impossible  to  tell  from  it  what 
was  to  be  understood  by  the  correlation  on  which  it  was  based, 
and  which  was  assumed  to  be  a  given  conclusion.  Even  so 
speculative  a  thinker  as  Frederik  Paludan-Miiller  called  the 
question  absolutely  meaningless.  It  looked  as  though  its  au- 
thor had  imagined  Shakespeare's  dramas  and  Dante's  epic 
were  produced  by  a  kind  of  artistic  commingling  of  pathetic 
with  symbolic  elements,  and  as  though  he  wished  to  call  at- 
tention to  the  danger  of  reversing  the  correct  proportions, 
for  instance,  by  the  symbolic  obtaining  the  preponderance 
in  tragedy,  or  pathos  in  the  epopee,  or  to  the  danger  of  ex- 
aggerating these  proportions,  until  there  was  too  much  tragic 
pathos,  or  too  much  epic  symbolism.  But  a  scientific  defini- 
tion of  the  expressions  used  was  altogether  lacking,  and  I  had 
to  devote  a  whole  chapter  to  the  examination  of  the  meaning 
of  the  problem  proposed  to  me. 

The  essay,  for  the  writing  of  which  I  was  allowed  six 
weeks,  was  handed  in,  188  folio  pages  long,  at  the  right  time. 
By  reason  of  the  sheer  foolishness  of  the  question,  it  was 
never  published. 

In  a  postscript,  I  wrote:  "  I  beg  my  honoured  exam- 
iners to  remember  the  time  during  which  this  treatise  was  writ- 
ten, a  time  more  eventful  than  any  other  young  men  can  have 


144  REMINISCENCES 

been  through,  and  during  which  I,  for  my  part,  have  for  days 
at  a  time  been  unable  to  work,  and  should  have  been  ashamed 
if  I  could  have  done  so." 

In  explanation  of  this  statement,  the  following  jottings, 
written  down  at  the  time  on  a  sheet  of  paper: 

Sunday,  Jan.  I^th.  Received  letter  telling  me  I  may  fetch  my  leading 
question    to-morrow    at    5    o'clock. 

Monday,  Feb.  ist.  Heard  to-day  that  the  Germans  have  passed  the  Eider 
and   that  the   first  shots   have   been   exchanged. 

Saturday,  Feb.  6th.  Received  to-day  the  terrible,  incomprehensible,  but 
only  too  certain  news  that  the  Danevirke  has  been  abandoned  without  a 
blow   being   struck.      This   is   indescribable,   overwhelming. 

Thursday,  Feb.  2Sth.  We  may,  unfortunately,  assume  it  as  certain  that 
my  dear  friend  Jens   Paludan-Miiller   fell   at   Overso  on   Feb.    sth. 

Feb.  2Sth.  Heard  definitely  to-day. — At  half-past  one  this  night  finished 
my  essay. 

XV. 

I  thought  about  this  time  of  nothing  but  my  desire  to 
become  a  competent  soldier  of  my  country.  There  was  noth- 
ing I  wanted  more,  but  I  felt  physically  very  weak.  When 
the  first  news  of  the  battles  of  MIdsunde  and  Bustrup  ar- 
rived, I  was  very  strongly  Inclined  to  follow  Julius  Lange  to 
the  Reserve  Officers'  School.  When  tidings  came  of  the 
abandonment  of  the  Danevirke  my  enthusiasm  cooled ;  It  was 
as  though  I  foresaw  how  little  prospect  of  success  there  was. 
Still,  I  was  less  melancholy  than  Lange  at  the  thought  of 
going  to  the  war.  I  was  single,  and  delighted  at  the  thought 
of  going  straight  from  the  examination-table  into  a  camp  life, 
and  from  a  book-mad  student  to  become  a  lieutenant.  I  was 
influenced  most  by  the  prospect  of  seeing  Lange  every  day 
at  the  Officers'  School,  and  on  the  field.  But  my  comrades 
explained  to  me  that  even  If  Lange  and  I  came  out  of  the 
School  at  the  same  time,  it  did  not  follow  that  we  should  be 
in  the  same  division,  and  that  the  thing,  moreover,  that  was 
wanted  in  an  officer,  was  entire  self-dependence.  They  also 
pointed  out  to  me  the  Improbability  of  my  being  able  to  do 
the  least  good,  or  having  the  slightest  likelihood  In  front  of 
me  of  doing  anything  but  quickly  find  myself  in  hospital. 
I  did  not  really  think  myself  that  I  should  be  able  to  stand 
the  fatigue,  as  the  pupils  of  the  military  academy  went  over 


ADOLESCENCE  145 

to  the  army  with  an  equipment  that  I  could  scarcely  have 
carried.  I  could  not  possibly  suppose  that  the  conscription 
would  select  me  as  a  private,  on  account  of  my  fragile  build; 
but  like  all  the  rest,  1  was  expecting  every  day  a  general  or- 
dering out  of  the  fit  men  of  my  age. 

All  this  time  I  worked  with  might  and  main  at  the  devel- 
opment of  my  physical  strength  and  accomplishments.  I 
went  every  day  to  fencing  practice,  likewise  to  cavalry  sword 
practice;  I  took  lessons  in  the  use  of  the  bayonet,  and  I  took 
part  every  afternoon  in  the  shooting  practices  conducted  by 
the  officers — with  the  old  muzzle-loaders  which  were  the 
army  weapons  at  the  time.  I  was  very  delighted  one  day 
when  Mr.  Hagemeister,  the  fencing-master,  one  of  the  many 
splendid  old  Holstein  non-commissioned  officers  holding  the 
rank  of  lieutenant,  said  I  was  "A  smart  fencer." 

XVI. 

Meanwhile,  the  examination  was  taking  its  course.  As 
real  curiosities,  I  here  reproduce  the  questions  set  me.  The 
three  to  be  replied  to  in  writing  were: 

1.  To  what  extent  can  poetry  be  called  the  Ideal  Hlston^? 

2.  In  what  manner  may  the  philosophical  Ideas  of  Spinoza 

and  Fichte  lead  to  a  want  of  appreciation  of  the  idea 
of  beaut)'? 

3.  In  what  relation  does  the  comic  stand  to  its  limitations 

and  its  various  contrasts? 

The  three  questions  which  were  to  be  replied  to  in  lec- 
tures before  the  University  ran  as  follows: 

1.  Show,  through  poems  in  our  literature,  to  what  extent 

poetry  may  venture  to  set  itself  the  task  of  present- 
ing the  Idea  in  a  form  coinciding  with  the  philo- 
sophical understanding  of  it? 

2.  Point  out  the  special  contributions  to  a  philosophical  defi- 

nition of  the  Idea  made  by  i^.sthetics  in  particular. 

3.  What  are  the  merits  and  defects  of  Schiller's  tragedies? 

These  questions,  in  conjunction  with  the  main  question, 


146  REMINISCENCES 

may  well  be  designated  a  piece  of  contemporary  history;  they 
depict  exactly  both  the  Science  of  the  time  and  the  peculiar 
philosophical  language  it  adopted.  Hardly  more  than  one, 
or  at  most  two,  of  them  could  one  imagine  set  to-day. 

After  the  final  (and  best)  lecture,  on  Schiller,  which 
was  given  at  six  hours'  notice  on  April  25th,  the  judges, 
Hauch,  Nielsen  and  Brochner,  deliberated  for  about  ten  min- 
utes, then  called  in  the  auditors  and  R.  Nielsen  read  aloud 
the  following  verdict:  "  The  candidate,  in  his  long  essay,  in 
the  shorter  written  tests,  and  in  his  oral  lectures,  has  mani- 
fested such  knowledge  of  his  subject,  such  intellectual  matu- 
rity, and  such  originality  in  the  treatment  of  his  themes,  that 
we  have  on  that  account  unanimously  awarded  him  the  mark: 
admissiis  cum  laude  pracipua." 

XVII. 

The  unusually  favourable  result  of  this  examination 
attracted  the  attention  of  academical  and  other  circles  to- 
wards me.  The  mark  admissus  cum  pracipua  laude  had  only 
very  rarely  been  given  before.  Hauch  expressed  his  satis- 
faction at  home  in  no  measured  terms.  His  wife  stopped 
my  grandfather  in  the  street  and  informed  him  that  his 
grandson  was  the  cleverest  and  best-read  young  man  that  her 
husband  had  come  across  during  his  University  experience. 
When  I  went  to  the  old  poet  after  the  examination  to  thank 
him,  he  said  to  me  (these  were  his  very  words)  :  "I  am  an 
old  man  and  must  die  soon;  you  must  be  my  successor  at  the 
University;  I  shall  say  so  unreservedly;  indeed,  I  will  even 
say  it  on  my  death-bed."  Strangely  enough,  he  did  say  it 
and  record  it  on  his  death-bed  seven  years  later,  exactly  as  he 
had  promised  to  do. 

In  Brochner's  house,  too,  there  was  a  great  deal  said 
about  my  becoming  a  professor.  I  myself  was  despondent 
about  it;  I  thought  only  of  the  war,  only  wished  to  be  fit  for 
a  soldier.  Hauch  was  pleased  at  my  wanting  to  be  a  soldier. 
"It  is  fine  of  you,  if  you  can  only  stand  it."  When  Hauch 
heard  for  certain  that  I  was  only  22  years  old  (he  himself 
was  73),  he  started  up  in  his  chair  and  said: 


ADOLESCENCE  147 

"  Why,  it  Is  incredible  that  at  your  age  you  can  have 
got  so  far."  Rasmus  Nielsen  was  the  only  one  of  the  profes- 
sors who  did  not  entertain  me  with  the  discussion  of  my  fu- 
ture academic  prospects;  but  he  It  was  who  gave  me  the  high- 
est praise: 

"  According  to  our  unanimous  opinions,"  said  he,  "  you 
are  the  foremost  of  all  the  young  men." 

I  was  only  the  more  determined  not  to  let  myself  be 
buried  alive  In  the  flower  of  my  youth  by  accepting  professor- 
ship before  I  had  been  able  to  live  and  breathe  freely. — I 
might  have  spared  myself  any  anxiety. 

XVIII. 

A  few  days  later,  on  May  lOth,  a  month's  armistice 
was  proclaimed,  which  was  generally  construed  as  a  prelimi- 
nary to  peace,  if  this  could  be  attained  under  possible  condi- 
tions. It  was  said,  and  soon  confirmed,  that  at  the  Confer- 
ence of  London,  Denmark  had  been  offered  North  Slesvlg. 
Most  unfortunately,  Denmark  refused  the  offer.  On  June 
26th,  the  war  broke  out  again;  two  days  later  Alsen  was  lost. 
When  the  young  men  were  called  up  to  the  officers'  board  for 
conscription,  "  being  too  slight  of  build,"  I  was  deferred  till 
next  year.  Were  the  guerilla  war  which  was  talked  about 
to  break  out,  I  was  determined  all  the  same  to  take  my  part 
in  it. 

But  the  Bluhme-David  Ministry  succeeded  to  Mon- 
rad's,  and  concluded  the  oppressive  peace. 

I  was  very  far  from  regarding  this  peace  as  final;  for 
that,  I  was  too  Inexperienced.  I  correctly  foresaw  that  be- 
fore very  long  the  state  of  affairs  in  Europe  would  give  rise 
to  other  wars,  but  I  incorrectly  concluded  therefrom  that  an- 
other fight  for  Slesvlg,  or  in  any  case,  its  restoration  to  Den- 
mark, would  result  from  them. 

In  the  meantime  peace,  discouraging,  disheartening 
though  it  was,  opened  up  possibilities  of  further  undisturbed 
study,  fresh  absorption  in  scientific  occupations. 

When,  after  the  termination  of  my  L^niversitv  studies, 
I  had  to  think  of  earning  my  own  living,  1  not  only,  as  be- 


148  REMINISCENCES 

fore,  gave  private  lessons,  but  I  gave  lectures,  first  to  a  circle 
before  whom  I  lectured  on  Northern  and  Greek  mythology, 
then  to  another,  in  David's  house,  to  whom  I  unfolded  the 
inner  history  of  modern  literature  to  interested  listeners, 
amongst  them  several  beautiful  young  girls.  I  finally  en- 
gaged myself  to  my  old  Arithmetic  master  as  teacher  of  Dan- 
ish in  his  course  for  National  school-mistresses.  I  found 
the  work  horribly  dull,  but  there  was  one  racy  thing  about  it, 
namely,  that  I,  the  master,  was  three  years  younger  than  the 
youngest  of  my  pupils;  these  latter  were  obliged  to  be  at  least 
25,  and  consequently  even  at  their  youngest  were  quite  old 
in  my  eyes. 

But  there  were  many  much  older  women  amongst 
them,  one  even,  a  priest  or  schoolmaster's  widow,  of  over 
fifty,  a  poor  thing  who  had  to  begin — at  her  age ! — from  the 
very  beginning,  though  she  was  anything  but  gifted.  It  was 
not  quite  easy  for  a  master  without  a  single  hair  on  his  face 
to  make  himself  respected.  But  I  succeeded,  my  pupils  being 
so  well-behaved. 

It  was  an  exciting  moment  when  these  pupils  of  mine 
went  up  for  their  teacher's  examination,  I  being  present  as 
auditor. 

I  continued  to  teach  this  course  until  the  Autumn  of 
1868.  When  I  left,  I  was  gratified  by  one  of  the  ladies  ris- 
ing and,  in  a  little  speech,  thanking  me  for  the  good  instruc- 
tion I  had  given. 

XIX. 

Meanwhile,  I  pursued  my  studies  with  ardour  and  en- 
joyment, read  a  very  great  deal  of  belles-lettres,  and  contin- 
ued to  work  at  German  philosophy,  inasmuch  as  I  now, 
though  without  special  profit,  plunged  into  a  study  of  Tren- 
delenburg. My  thoughts  were  very  much  more  stimulated  by- 
Gabriel  Sibbern,  on  account  of  his  consistent  scepticism.  It 
was  just  about  this  time  that  I  made  his  acquaintance.  Old 
before  his  time,  bald  at  forty,  tormented  with  gout,  although 
he  had  ahvays  lived  a  most  abstemious  life,  Gabriel  Sibbern, 
with  his  serene  face,  clever  eyes  and  independent  thoughts, 
was  an  emancipating  phenomenon.     He  had  divested  himself 


ADOLESCENCE  149 

of  all  Danish  prejudices.     "  There  is  still  a  great  deal  of 
phlogiston  in  our  philosophy,"  he  used  to  say  sometimes. 

I  had  long  been  anxious  to  come  to  a  clear  scientific 
understanding  of  the  musical  elements  in  speech.  I  had 
busied  myself  a  great  deal  with  metrical  art.  Brucke's  In- 
quiries were  not  yet  in  existence,  but  I  was  fascinated  by 
Apel's  attempt  to  make  use  of  notes  (crotchets,  quavers, 
dotted  quavers,  and  semi-quavers)  as  metrical  signs,  and  by 
J.  L.  Heiberg's  attempt  to  apply  this  system  to  Danish  verse. 
But  the  system  was  too  arbitrary  for  anything  to  be  built 
up  upon  it.  And  I  then  made  up  my  mind,  in  order  better  to 
understand  the  nature  of  verse,  to  begin  at  once  to  familiarise 
myself  with  the  theory  of  music,  which  seemed  to  promise 
the  opening  out  of  fresh  horizons  in  the  Interpretation  of  the 
harmonies  of  language. 

With  the  assistance  of  a  young  musician,  later  the  well- 
known  composer  and  Concert  Director,  Victor  Bendix,  I 
plunged  into  the  mysteries  of  thorough-bass,  and  went  so  far 
as  to  write  out  the  entire  theory  of  harmonics.  I  learnt  to 
express  myself  in  the  barbaric  language  of  music,  to  speak 
of  minor  scales  in  fifths,  to  understand  what  was  meant  by 
enharmonic  ambiguity.  I  studied  voice  modulation,  permis- 
sible and  non-permissible  octaves;  but  I  did  not  find  what  I 
hoped.  I  composed  a  few  short  tunes,  which  I  myself 
thought  very  pretty,  but  which  my  young  master  made  great 
fun  of,  and  with  good  reason.  One  evening,  when  he  was  in 
very  high  spirits,  he  parodied  one  of  them  at  the  piano  in 
front  of  a  large  party  of  people.  It  was  a  disconcerting 
moment  for  the  composer  of  the  tune. 

A  connection  between  metrical  art  and  thorough-bass 
was  not  discoverable.  Neither  were  there  any  unbreakable 
laws  governing  thorough-bass.  The  unversed  person  be- 
lieves that  In  harmonics  he  will  find  quite  definite  rules  which 
must  not  be  transgressed.  But  again  and  again  he  discovers 
that  what  Is,  as  a  general  rule,  forbidden.  Is  nevertheless,  un- 
der certain  circumstances,  quite  permissible. 

Thus  he  learns  that  In  music  there  Is  no  rule  binding  on 
genius.  And  perhaps  he  asks  himself  whether,  In  other  do- 
mains, there  are  rules  which  are  binding  on  genius. 


I50  REMINISCENCES 

XX. 

I  had  lived  so  little  with  Nature.  The  Spring  of  1865, 
the  first  Spring  I  had  spent  in  the  country — although  quite 
near  to  Copenhagen — meant  to  me  rich  impressions  of  na- 
ture that  I  never  forgot,  a  long  chain  of  the  most  exquisite 
Spring  memories.  I  understood  as  I  had  never  done  be- 
fore the  inborn  affection  felt  by  every  human  being  for  the 
virgin,  the  fresh,  the  untouched,  the  not  quite  full-blown, 
just  as  it  is  about  to  pass  over  into  Its  maturity.  It  was  in 
the  latter  half  of  May.  I  was  looking  for  anemones  and 
violets,  which  had  not  yet  gone  to  seed.  The  budding  beech 
foliage,  the  silver  poplar  with  its  shining  leaves,  the  maple 
with  its  blossoms,  stirred  me,  filled  me  with  Spring  rapture. 
I  could  lie  long  in  the  woods  with  my  gaze  fastened  on  a 
light-green  branch  with  the  sun  shining  through  it,  and,  as 
if  stirred  by  the  wind,  lighted  up  from  different  sides,  and 
floating  and  flashing  as  if  coated  with  silver.  I  saw  the 
empty  husks  fall  by  the  hundred  before  the  wind.  I  fol- 
lowed up  the  streams  in  the  wood  to  their  sources.  For  a 
while  a  rivulet  oozed  slowly  along.  Then  came  a  little  fall, 
and  it  began  to  speak,  to  gurgle  and  murmur;  but  only  at 
this  one  place,  and  here  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  like  a  young  man 
or  woman  of  twenty.  Now  that  I,  who  in  my  boyhood's  days 
had  gone  for  botanical  excursions  with  my  master  and  school- 
fellows, absorbed  myself  in  every  plant,  from  greatest  to 
least,  without  wishing  to  arrange  or  classify  any,  it  seemed 
as  though  an  infinite  wisdom  in  Nature  were  being  revealed 
to  me  for  the  first  time. 

As  near  to  Copenhagen  as  Sondermarken,  stood  the 
beech,  with  its  curly  leaves  and  black  velvet  buds  in  their  silk 
jackets.  In  the  gardens  of  Frederiksberg  Avenue,  the  elder 
exhaled  its  fragrance,  but  was  soon  over;  the  hawthorn 
sprang  out  in  all  its  splendour.  I  was  struck  by  the  loveli- 
ness of  the  chestnut  blooms.  When  the  blossom  on  the 
cherry-trees  had  withered,  the  lilac  was  out,  and  the  apple 
and  pear-trees  paraded  their  gala  dress. 

It  interested  me  to  notice  how  the  colour  sometimes  in- 
dicated the  shape,  sometimes  produced  designs  quite  inde- 


ADOLESCENCE  151 

pendently  of  it.  I  loitered  in  gardens  to  feast  my  eyes  on  the 
charming  grouping  of  the  rhubarb  leaves  no  less  than  on  the 
exuberance  of  their  flowers,  and  the  leaves  of  the  scorzoncra 
attracted  my  attention,  because  they  all  grew  in  one  plane,  but 
swung  about  like  lances. 

And  as  my  habit  was,  I  philosophised  over  what  I  saw 
and  had  made  my  own,  and  1  strove  to  understand  in  what 
beauty  consisted.  I  considered  the  relations  between  beauty 
and  life;  why  was  it  that  artificial  flowers  and  the  imitation  of 
a  nightingale's  song  were  so  far  behind  their  originals  in 
beauty?  What  was  the  difference  between  the  beauty  of  the 
real,  the  artificial  and  the  painted  flower?  Might  not  Her- 
bart's  i^sthetics  be  wrong,  in  their  theory  of  form?  The 
form  itself  might  be  the  same  in  Nature  and  the  imitation, 
in  the  rose  made  of  velvet  and  the  rose  growing  in  the  gar- 
den. And  I  reflected  on  the  connection  between  the  beauty 
of  the  species  and  that  of  the  individual.  Whether  a  lily 
be  a  beautiful  flower,  I  can  say  without  ever  having  seen 
lilies  before,  but  whether  it  be  a  beautiful  lily,  I  cannot.  The 
individual  can  only  be  termed  beautiful  when  more  like  than 
unlike  to  the  ideal  of  the  species.  And  I  mused  over  the 
translation  of  the  idea  of  beauty  into  actions  and  intellectual 
conditions.  Was  not  the  death  of  Socrates  more  beautiful 
than  his  preservation  of  Alcibiades'  life  in  battle? — though 
this  was  none  the  less  a  beautiful  act. 

XXI. 

In  the  month  of  July  I  started  on  a  walking  tour  through 
Jutland,  with  the  scenery  of  which  province  I  had  not  hith- 
erto been  acquainted;  travelled  also  occasionally  by  the  old 
stage-coaches,  found  myself  at  Skanderborg,  which,  for  me, 
was  surrounded  by  the  halo  of  mediaeval  romance;  w^andered 
to  Silkeborg,  entering  into  conversation  with  no  end  of  people, 
peasants,  peasant  boys,  and  pretty  little  peasant  girls,  whose 
speech  was  not  always  easy  to  understand.  I  studied  their 
Juttish,  and  laughed  heartily  at  their  keen  wit.  The  coun- 
try inns  were  often  over-full,  so  that  T  was  obliged  to  sleep 
on  the  floor;  my  wanderings  were  often  somewhat  exhaust- 


152  REMINISCENCES 

Ing,  as  there  were  constant  showers,  and  the  night  rain  had 
soaked  the  roads.  I  drove  in  a  peasant's  cart  to  Mariager  to 
visit  my  friend  Emil  Petersen,  who  was  in  the  office  of  the 
district  judge  of  that  place,  making  his  home  with  his  brother- 
in-law  and  his  very  pretty  sister,  and  I  stayed  for  a  few  days 
with  him.  Here  I  became  acquainted  with  a  little  out-of-the- 
world  Danish  town.  The  priest  and  his  wife  were  an  inter- 
esting and  extraordinary  couple.  The  priest,  the  before-men- 
tioned Pastor  Ussing,  a  little,  nervous,  intelligent  and  un- 
worldly man,  was  a  pious  dreamer,  whose  religion  was  en- 
tirely rationalistic.  Kenan's  recently  published  Life  of  Jesus 
was  so  far  from  shocking  him  that  the  book  seemed  to  him 
in  all  essentials  to  be  on  the  right  track.  He  had  lived  in  the 
Danish  West  Indies,  and  there  he  had  become  acquainted 
with  his  wife,  a  lady  with  social  triumphs  behind  her,  whose 
charms  he  never  wearied  of  admiring.  The  mere  way  in 
which  she  placed  her  hat  upon  her  head,  or  threw  a 
shawl  round  her  shoulders,  could  make  him  fall  into  ecstasies, 
even  though  he  only  expressed  his  delight  in  her  in  half-face- 
tious terms.  This  couple  showed  me  the  most  cordial 
kindness;  to  their  unpractised,  provincial  eyes,  I  seemed  to 
be  a  typical  young  man  of  the  world,  and  they  amazed 
me  with  the  way  in  which  they  took  it  for  granted  that  I  led 
the  dances  at  every  ball,  was  a  lion  in  society,  etc.  I  was  re- 
minded of  the  student's  words  in  Hostrup's  vaudeville: 
"Goodness!  How  innocent  they  must  be  to  think  me  a 
dandy!  "  and  vainly  assured  them  that  I  lived  an  exceedingly 
unnoticed  life  in  Copenhagen,  and  had  never  opened  a  ball  in 
my  life. 

The  priest  asked  us  two  young  men  to  go  and  hear  his 
Sunday  sermon,  and  promised  that  we  should  be  pleased  with 
it.  We  went  to  church  somewhat  expectant,  and  the  sermon 
was  certainly  a  most  unusual  one.  It  was  delivered  with 
great  rapture,  after  the  priest  had  bent  his  head  in  his  hands 
for  a  time  in  silent  reflection.  With  great  earnestness  he  ad- 
dressed himself  to  his  congregation  and  demanded,  after  hav- 
ing put  before  them  some  of  the  cures  in  the  New  Testament, 
generally  extolled  as  miracles,  whether  they  dared  maintain 
that  these  so-called  miracles  could  not  have  taken  place  ac- 


ADOLESCENCE  153 

cording  to  Nature's  laws.  And  when  he  impressively  called 
out:  "  Barest  thou,  with  thy  limited  human  intelligence, 
say,  'This  cannot  happen  naturally?'  "  it  was  In  the  same 
tone  and  style  In  which  another  priest  would  have  shouted 
out:  "  Darest  thou,  with  thy  limited  human  intelligence, 
deny  the  miracle?"  The  peasants,  who,  no  doubt,  under- 
stood his  words  quite  in  this  latter  sense,  did  not  understand 
in  the  least  the  difference  and  the  contrast,  but  judged  much 
the  same  as  a  dog  to  whom  one  might  talk  angrily  with  caress- 
ing words  or  caressingly  with  abusive  words,  simply  from  the 
speaker's  tone;  and  both  his  tone  and  facial  expression  were 
ecstatic.  They  perceived  no  heresy  and  felt  themselves  no 
less  edified  by  the  address  than  did  the  two  young  Copenhagen 
graduates. 

XXII. 

My  first  newspaper  articles  were  printed  In  The  Father- 
land and  the  Illustrated  Times;  the  very  first  was  a  notice  of 
Paludan-Miiller's  Fountain  of  Youth,  in  w^hich  I  had  com- 
pressed matter  for  three  or  four  lectures;  a  commissioned 
article  on  Dante  was  about  the  next,  but  this  was  of  no 
value.  But  It  was  a  great  event  to  see  one's  name  printed  In 
a  newspaper  for  the  first  time,  and  my  mother  saw  it  not  with- 
out emotion. 

About  this  time  Henrik  Ibsen's  first  books  fell  Into  my 
hands  and  attracted  my  attention  towards  this  rising  poet, 
who,  among  the  leading  Danish  critics,  encountered  a  reser- 
vation of  appreciation  that  scarcely  concealed  ill-will.  From 
Norway  I  procured  Ibsen's  oldest  dramas,  which  had  ap- 
peared there. 

Frederik  Algreen-Ussing  asked  me  to  contribute  to  a 
large  biographical  dictionary,  which  he  had  for  a  long  time 
been  planning  and  preparing,  and  which  he  had  just  con- 
cluded a  contract  for  with  the  largest  Danish  publishing  firm 
of  the  time.  A  young  man  who  hated  the  August  Associa- 
tion and  all  its  deeds  could  not  fail  to  feel  scruples  about  en- 
gaging in  any  collaboration  with  its  founder.  But  Algreen- 
Ussing  knew  how  to  vanquish  all  such  scruples,  inasmuch  as 
he  waived  all  rights  of  censorship,  and  left  it  to  each  author 


154  REMINISCENCES 

to  write  as  he  liked  upon  his  own  responsibility.  And  he  was 
perfectly  loyal  to  his  promise.  Moreover,  the  question  here 
was  one  of  literature  only,  and  not  politics. 

As  the  Danish  authors  were  to  be  dealt  with  in  alpha- 
betical order,  the  article  that  had  to  be  set  about  at  once  was 
an  account  of  the  only  Danish  poet  whose  name  began  with 
Aa.  Thus  it  was  that  Emil  Aarestrup  came  to  be  the  first 
Danish  poet  of  the  past  of  whom  I  chanced  to  write. 
I  heard  of  the  existence  of  a  collection  of  unprinted  letters 
from  Aarestrup  to  his  friend  Petersen,  the  grocer,  which 
were  of  very  great  advantage  to  my  essay.  A  visit  that  I  paid 
to  the  widow  of  the  poet,  on  the  other  hand,  led  to  no  re- 
sult whatever.  It  was  strange  to  meet  the  lady  so  enthu- 
siastically sung  by  Aarestrup  in  his  young  days,  as  a  sulky  ana 
suspicious  old  woman  without  a  trace  of  former  beauty,  who 
declared  that  she  had  no  letters  from  her  husband,  and  could 
not  give  me  any  information  about  him.  It  was  only  a  gen- 
eration later  that  his  letters  to  her  came  into  my  hands. 

In  September,  1865,  the  article  on  Aarestrup  was  fin- 
ished. It  was  intended  to  be  quickly  followed  up  by  others 
on  the  remaining  Danish  authors  in  A.  But  it  was  the  only 
one  that  was  written,  for  Algreen-Ussing's  apparently  so  well 
planned  undertaking  was  suddenly  brought  to  a  standstill. 
The  proprietors  of  the  National  Liberal  papers  declared,  as 
soon  as  they  heard  of  the  plan,  that  they  w^ould  not  on  any 
account  agree  to  its  being  carried  out  by  a  man  who  took  up 
such  a  "  reactionary  "  position  in  Danish  politics  as  Ussing, 
and  in  face  of  their  threat  to  annihilate  the  undertaking,  the 
publishers,  who  were  altogether  dependent  on  the  attitude  of 
these  papers,  did  not  dare  to  defy  them.  They  explained  to 
Algreen-Ussing  that  they  felt  obliged  to  break  their  contract 
with  him,  but  were  willing  to  pay  him  the  compensation 
agreed  upon  beforehand  for  failure  to  carry  it  out.  He 
fought  long  to  get  his  project  carried  through,  but  his  efforts 
proving  fruitless,  he  refused,  from  pride,  to  accept  any  in- 
demnity, and  was  thus  compelled  to  see  with  bitterness  many 
years'  work  and  an  infinite  amount  of  trouble  completely 
wasted.  Shortly  afterwards  he  succumbed  to  an  attack  of 
illness. 


ADOLESCENCE  155 

XXIII. 

A  young  man  who  plunged  into  philosophical  study  at 
the  beginning  of  the  sixties  in  Denmark,  and  was  specially 
engrossed  by  the  boundary  relations  between  Philosophy  and 
Religion,  could  not  but  come  to  the  conclusion  that  philosophi- 
cal life  would  never  flourish  in  Danish  soil  until  a  great  intel- 
lectual battle  had  been  set  on  foot,  in  the  course  of  which 
conflicting  opinions  which  had  never  yet  been  advanced  in 
express  terms  should  be  made  manifest  and  wrestle  with  one 
another,  until  it  became  clear  which  standpoints  were  unten- 
able and  which  could  be  maintained.  Although  he  cherished 
warm  feelings  of  affection  for  both  R.  Nielsen  and  Brochner, 
the  two  professors  of  Philosophy,  he  could  not  help  hoping 
for  a  discussion  between  them  of  the  fundamental  questions 
which  were  engaging  his  mind.  As  Brochner's  pupil,  I  said 
a  little  of  what  was  in  my  mind  to  him,  but  could  not  induce 
him  to  begin.  Then  I  begged  Gabriel  Sibbern  to  furnish  a 
thorough  criticism  of  Nielsen's  books,  but  he  declined.  I  be- 
gan to  doubt  whether  I  should  be  able  to  persuade  the  elder 
men  to  speak. 

A  review  in  The  Fatherland  of  the  first  part  of  Niel- 
sen's Logic  of  Fundamental  Ideas  roused  my  indignation.  It 
was  in  diametric  opposition  to  what  I  considered  irrefutably 
true,  and  was  written  in  the  style,  and  with  the  metaphors, 
which'  the  paper's  literary  criticisms  had  brought  into  fashion, 
a  style  that  was  repugnant  to  me  with  its  sham  poetical,  or 
meaninglessly  flat  expressions  ("  Matter  is  the  hammer- 
stroke  that  the  Ideal  requires" — "  Spontaneity  is  like  food 
that  has  once  been  eaten  "). 

In  an  eleven-page  letter  to  Brochner  I  condensed  all 
that  I  had  thought  about  the  philosophical  study  at  the  Uni- 
versity during  these  first  years  of  my  youth,  and  proved  to 
him,  in  the  keenest  terms  I  could  think  of,  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  the  ideas  whose  spokesman  he  was,  to  come  forward,  and 
that  it  would  be  foolish,  in  fact  wrong,  to  leave  the  matter 
alone.  I  knew  well  enough  that  I  was  jeopardising  my  pre- 
cious friendship  with  Brochner  by  my  action,  but  I  was  will- 
ing to  take  the  risk.     I  did  not  expect  any  immediate  result 


156  REMINISCENCES 

of  my  letter,  but  thought  to  myself  that  It  should  fer- 
ment, and  some  time  in  the  future  might  bear  fruit.  I'he 
outcome  of  it  far  exceeded  my  expectations,  inasmuch  as 
Brochner  was  moved  by  my  letter,  and  not  only  thanked  me 
warmly  for  my  daring  words,  but  went  without  delay  to 
Nielsen  and  told  him  that  he  intended  to  write  a  book  on  his 
entire  philosophical  activity  and  significance.  Nielsen  took 
his  announcement  with  a  good  grace. 

However,  as  Brochner  immediately  afterwards  lost  his 
young  wife,  and  was  attacked  by  the  insidious  consumption 
which  ravaged  him  for  ten  years,  the  putting  of  this  resolution 
into  practice  was  for  several  years  deferred. 

At  that  I  felt  that  I  myself  must  venture,  and,  as  a  be- 
ginning, Julius  Lange  and  I,  in  collaboration,  wrote  a  humor- 
ous article  on  Schmidt's  review  of  The  Logic  of  Fundamental 
Ideas,  which  Lange  was  to  get  into  The  Daily  Paper, 
to  which  he  had  access.  Three  days  after  the  article 
was  finished  Lange  came  to  me  and  told  me  that  to  his  dismay 
it  was — gone.  It  was  so  exactly  like  him  that  I  was  just  as 
delighted  as  if  he  had  informed  me  that  the  article  was 
printed.  For  some  time  we  hoped  that  it  might  be  on  Lange's 
table,  for,  the  day  before,  he  had  said: 

"  I  am  not  of  a  curious  disposition,  but  I  should  like  to 
know  what  there  really  is  on  that  table!  " 

However,  it  had  irrevocably  disappeared. 

I  then  came  forward  myself  with  a  number  of  shorter 
articles  which  I  succeeded  in  getting  accepted  by  the  Father- 
land. When  I  entered  for  the  first  time  Ploug's  tiny  little 
oflice  high  up  at  the  top  of  a  house  behind  Hojbro  Place,  the 
gruff  man  was  not  unfriendly.  Surprised  at  the  youthful  ap- 
pearance of  the  person  who  walked  in,  he  merely  burst  out: 
"  How  old  are  you?  "  And  to  the  reply:  "  Twenty-three 
and  a  half,"  he  said  smilingly,  "  Don't  forget  the  half." 

The  first  article  was  not  printed  for  months:  the  next 
ones  appeared  without  such  long  delay.  But  Ploug  was 
somewhat  uneasy  about  the  contents  of  them,  and  cautiously 
remarked  that  there  was  "  not  to  be  any  fun  made  of  Re- 
ligion," which  it  could  not  truthfully  be  said  I  had  done. 
But  I  had  touched  upon  dogmatic  Belief  and  that  was  eiwugh. 


ADOLESCENCE  1-7 

Later  on,  Ploug  had  a  notion  that,  as  he  once  wrote,  he  had 
excluded  me  from  the  paper  as  soon  as  he  perceived  my  mis- 
chievous tendency.  This  was  a  failure  of  memory  on  his 
part;  the  reason  I  left  the  paper  was  a  different  one,  and  I 
left  of  my  own  accord. 

Bold  and  surly,  virile  and  reliable  as  Ploug  seemed,  in 
things  journalistic  you  could  place  slight  dependence  on  his 
word.  His  dearest  friend  admitted  as  much;  he  gave  his 
consent,  and  then  forgot  it,  or  withdrew  it.  Nothing  is 
more  general,  but  it  made  an  overweening  impression  on  a 
beginner  like  myself,  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of  life. 

When  Ibsen's  Brand  came  out,  creating  an  unusual  sen- 
sation, I  asked  Ploug  if  I  might  review  the  book  and  received 
a  definite  "  Yes  "  from  him.  I  then  wrote  my  article,  to 
which  I  devoted  no  little  pains,  but  when  I  took  it  in  it  was 
met  by  him,  to  my  astonishment,  with  the  remark  that  the 
paper  had  now  received  another  notice  from  their  regular 
reviewer,  whom  he  "  could  not  very  well  kick  aside." 
Ploug's  promise  had  apparently  been  meaningless!  I  went 
my  way  with  my  article,  firmly  resolved  never  to  go  there 
again. 

From  1866  to  1870  I  sought  and  found  acceptance  for 
my  newspaper  articles  (not  very  numerous)  in  Bille's  Daily 
Paper,  which  in  its  turn  closed  its  columns  to  me  after  my 
first  series  of  lectures  at  the  University  of  Copenhagen.  Bille 
as  an  editor  was  pleasant,  a  little  patronising,  It  is  true,  but 
polite  and  invariably  good-tempered.  He  usually  received 
his  contributors  reclining  at  full  length  on  his  sofa,  his  head, 
with  its  beautifully  cut  features,  resting  against  a  cushion  and 
his  comfortable  little  stomach  protruding.  He  was  scarcely 
of  medium  height,  quick  In  everything  he  did,  very  clear,  a 
little  flat;  very  eloquent,  but  taking  somewhat  external  views; 
pleased  at  the  great  favour  he  enjoyed  among  the  Copen- 
hagen bourgeoisie.  If  he  entered  TIvolI's  Concert  Hall  In 
an  evening  all  the  waiter's  ran  about  at  once  like  cockroaches. 
Thev  hurried  to  know  what  he  might  please  to  want,  and 
fetched  chairs  for  him  and  his  partv.  Gav,  adaptable,  and 
practised,  he  was  the  principal  speaker  at  eveiy  social  gath- 
ering.    In  his  editorial  capacity  he  was  courteous,  decided, 


158  REMINISCENCES 

and  a  man  of  his  word;  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be 
alarmed  by  trifles.  When  Bjornson  attacked  me  (I  was  at 
the  time  his  youngest  contributor) ,  he  raised  my  scale  of  pay, 
unsolicited.  The  first  hitch  in  our  relations  occurred  when 
in  1869  I  published  a  translation  of  Mill's  Subjection  of  Wo- 
men. This  book  roused  Bille's  exasperation  and  displeasure. 
He  forbade  it  to  be  reviewed  in  his  paper,  refused  me  permis- 
sion to  defend  it  in  the  paper,  and  would  not  even  allow  the 
book  in  his  house,  so  that  his  family  had  to  read  it  clande- 
stinely, as  a  dangerous  and  pernicious  work. 

XXIV. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1866  Ludvig  David  died 
suddenly  in  Rome,  of  typhoid  fever.  His  sorrowing  parents 
founded  in  memory  of  him  an  exhibition  for  law-students 
which  bears  and  perpetuates  his  name.  The  first  executors 
of  the  fund  were,  in  addition  to  his  most  intimate  friend,  two 
young  lawyers  named  Emil  Petersen  and  Emil  Bruun,  who 
had  both  been  friends  of  his.  The  latter,  who  has  not  pre- 
viously been  mentioned  in  these  pages,  was  a  strikingly  hand- 
some and  clever  young  man,  remarkable  for  his  calm  and 
superior  humour,  and  exceedingly  self-confident  and  virile. 
His  attitude  towards  Ludvig  David  in  his  early  youth  had 
been  somewhat  that  of  a  protector.  Unfortunately  he  was 
seriously  wounded  during  the  first  storming  of  the  Dybbol  re- 
doubts by  the  Germans;  a  bullet  crushed  one  of  the  spinal 
vertebrae;  gradually  the  wound  brought  on  consumption  of 
the  lungs  and  he  died  young. 

Ludvig  David's  death  was  a  great  loss  to  his  friends. 
It  was  not  only  that  he  took  such  an  affectionate  interest  in 
their  welfare  and  happiness,  but  he  had  a  considerable  gift  for 
Mathematics  and  History,  and,  from  his  home  training,  an 
understanding  of  affairs  of  state  which  was  considerably 
above  that  of  most  people.  Peculiarly  his  own  was  a  combi- 
nation of  keen,  disintegrating  intelligence,  and  a  tendency 
towards  comprehensive,  rounded  off,  summarising.  He  had 
strong  public  antipathies.  In  his  opinion  the  years  of  peace 
that  had  followed  the  first  war  in  Slesvig  had  had  an  ener- 


ADOLESCENCE  159 

vating  effect;  public  speakers  ?nd  journalists  had  taken  the 
places  of  brave  men;  many  a  solution  of  a  difficulty,  an- 
nounced at  first  with  enthusiasm,  had  in  course  of  time  petri- 
fied into  a  mere  set  phrase.  He  thought  many  of  the  lead- 
ing men  among  the  Liberals  superficial  and  devoid  of  char- 
acter, and  accused  them,  with  the  pitilessness  of  youth,  of 
mere  verbiage.  Influenced  as  he  was  by  Kierkegaard,  such 
a  man  as  Bille  was  naturally  his  aversion.  He  considered 
— not  altogether  justly — that  Bille  cloaked  himself  in  false 
earnestness. 

He  himself  was  profoundly  and  actively  philanthropic, 
with  an  impulse — by  no  means  universal — to  relieve  and 
help.  Society  life  he  hated;  to  him  it  was  waste  of  time  and 
a  torture  to  be  obliged  to  figure  in  a  ballroom;  he  cared  very 
little  for  his  appearance,  and  was  by  no  means  elegant  In  his 
dress.  He  was  happy,  however,  in  the  unconstrained  society 
of  the  comrades  he  cared  about,  enjoyed  a  merry  chat  or  a 
frolicsome  party,  and  in  Intimate  conversation  he  would  re- 
veal his  Inmost  nature  with  modest  unpretcnslon,  with  good- 
natured  wit,  directed  against  himself  as  much  as  against 
others,  and  with  an  understanding  and  sympathetic  eye  for 
his  surroundings.  His  warmest  outburst  had  generally  a  lit- 
tle touch  of  mockery  or  teasing  about  It,  as  though  he  were 
repeating,  half  roguishly,  the  feelings  of  another,  rather  than 
unreservedly  expressing  his  own.  But  a  heartfelt,  steadfast 
look  would  often  come  Into  his  beautiful  dark  eyes. 

XXV. 

His  death  left  a  great  void  In  his  home.  His  old  fa- 
ther said  to  me  one  day: 

"  Strange  how  one  ends  as  one  begins!  I  have  written 
no  verses  since  my  early  youth,  and  now  I  have  written  a 
poem  on  my  grief  for  Ludvig.      I  will  read  It  to  you." 

There  was  an  Art  and  Industrial  Exhibition  In  Stock- 
holm, that  Summer,  which  C  N.  David  was  anxious  to  see. 
As  he  did  not  care  to  go  alone,  he  took  me  In  his  son's  place. 
It  was  my  first  journey  to  a  foreign  capital,  and  as  such 
both  enjoyable  and  profitable.     I  no  longer.  It  Is  true,  had 


iGo  REMINISCENCES 

the  same  Intense  boyish  Impressionability  as  when  I  was 
In  Sweden  for  the  Hrst  time,  seven  years  before.  The 
most  trilling  thing  then  had  been  an  experience.  In  Gote- 
borg  I  had  stayed  with  a  friend  of  my  mother's,  whose 
twelve-year-old  daughter,  Bluma  Alida,  a  wondrously  charm- 
ing little  maiden,  had  jokingly  been  destined  by  the  two  moth- 
ers for  my  bride  from  the  child's  very  birth.  And  at  that 
time  I  had  assimilated  every  impression  of  people  or  scenery 
with  a  voracious  appetite  which  rendered  these  impressions 
ineffaceable  all  my  life  long.  That  Summer  month,  my  fancy 
had  transformed  every  meeting  with  a  young  girl  into  an  ad- 
venture and  fixed  every  landscape  on  my  mental  retina  with 
an  affection  such  as  the  landscape  painter  generally  only  feels 
for  a  place  where  he  is  specially  at  home.  1  hen  I  had 
shared  for  a  whole  month  Goteborg  family  and  social  life. 
Now  I  was  merely  trav^elling  as  a  tourist,  and  as  the  com- 
panion of  a  highly  respected  old  man. 

I  was  less  entranced  at  Stockholm  by  the  Industrial  Ex- 
hibition than  by  the  National  Museum  and  the  Royal  The- 
atre, where  the  lovely  Hyasser  captivated  me  by  her  beauty 
and  the  keen  energy  of  her  acting.  I  became  exceedingly 
fond  of  Stockholm,  this  most  beautifully  situated  of  the 
Northern  capitals,  and  saw,  with  reverence,  the  places  asso- 
ciated with  the  name  of  Bellman.  I  also  accompanied  my  old 
friend  to  Ulrlksdal,  where  the  Swedish  Queen  Dowager  ex- 
pected him  In  audience.  More  than  an  hour  before  we 
reached  the  Castle  he  threw  away  his  cigar. 

"  I  am  an  old  courtier,"  he  remarked.  He  had  always 
been  intimately  associated  with  the  Danish  Roval  family; 
for  a  long  time  the  Crown  Prince  used  to  go  regularly  to  his 
flat  in  Queen's  Crossway  Street,  to  be  Instructed  by  him  in  po- 
litical economy.  He  was  consequently  used  to  Court 
ceremonial. 

Beautiful  were  those  Summer  days,  lovely  the  light 
nights  in  Stockholm. 

One  recollection  from  these  weeks  is  associated  with  a 
night  when  the  sky  was  overcast.  T  had  wandered  round 
the  town,  before  retiring  to  rest,  and  somewhere,  in  a  large 
square,  slipping  my  hand  in  my  pocket,  and  feeling  It  full  of 


ADOLESCENCE  l6l 

bits  of  paper,  could  not  remember  how  they  got  there,  and 
threw  them  away.  When  I  was  nearly  back  at  the  hotel  it 
flashed  upon  me  that  it  had  been  small  Swedish  notes — all  the 
money  that  1  had  changed  for  my  stay  in  Stockholm — that  I 
had  been  carrying  loose  in  my  pocket  and  had  so  thoughtlessly 
thrown  away.  With  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  I  found  the 
square  again,  but  of  course  not  a  sign  of  the  riches  that  in 
unpardonable  forgetfulness  I  had  scattered  to  the  winds.  I 
was  obliged  to  borrow  six  Rigsdalcr  (a  sum  of  a  little  over 
thirteen  shillings)  from  my  old  protector.  That  my  re- 
quirements were  modest  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  this  sum 
sufficed. 

The  Danish  Ambassador  was  absent  from  Stockholm 
just  at  this  time,  and  the  Charge  d'Affaires  at  the  Legation 
had  to  receive  the  Danish  ex-Minister  in  his  stead.  He  was 
very  attentive  to  us,  and  took  the  travellers  everywhere 
where  C.  N.  David  wished  his  arrival  to  be  made  known. 
He  himself,  however,  was  a  most  unfortunate  specimen 
of  Danish  diplomacy,  a  man  disintegrated  by  hideous  de- 
bauchery, of  coarse  conversation,  and  disposition  so  brutal 
that  he  kicked  little  children  aside  with  his  foot  when  they 
got  in  front  of  him  in  the  street.  Abnormities  of  too  great 
irregularity  brought  about,  not  long  afterwards,  his  dismissal 
and  his  banishment  to  a  little  Danish  island. 

This  man  gave  a  large  dinner-party  in  honour  of  the 
Danish  ex-Minister,  to  which,  amongst  others,  all  the  Swed- 
ish and  Nonvegian  Ministers  in  Stockholm  were  invited.  It 
was  held  at  Hasselbakken,^  and  the  arrangements  were  mag- 
nificent. But  what  highly  astonished  me,  and  was  in  reality 
most  out  of  keeping  in  such  a  circle,  was  the  tone  that  the 
conversation  at  table  gradually  assumed,  and  espcciallv  the 
obscenity  of  the  subjects  of  conversation.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, the  Ministers  and  Diplomats  present,  but  a  Danish 
roue,  a  professor  of  Physics,  who  gave  this  turn  to  the  talk. 
He  related  anecdotes  that  would  have  made  a  sailor  blush. 
Neither  Count  Manderstrom,  nor  any  of  the  other  Ministers, 
neither  Malmgren,  nor  the  dignified  and  handsome  Norwe- 
gian Minister  Brettevllle,  seemed  to  be  offended.     Mander- 

^A  favourite  outdoor  pleasure  resort  at  Stockholm. 


i62  REMINISCENCES 

Strom's  expression,  however,  changed  very  noticeably  when 
the  professor  ventured  to  make  some  pointed  insinuations  re- 
garding the  Swedish  attitude,  and  his  personal  attitude  in 
particular,  previous  to  the  Dano-German  war  and  during  its 
course.  He  suddenly  pretended  not  to  understand,  and 
changed  the  subject  of  conversation. 

It  produced  an  extremely  painful  impression  upon  me 
that  not  only  the  Danish  Charge  d'Affaires,  but  apparently 
several  of  these  fine  gentlemen,  had  determined  on  the  addi- 
tional amusement  of  making  me  drunk.  Everybody  at  table 
vied  one  with  the  other  to  drink  my  health,  and  they  in- 
formed me  that  etiquette  demanded  I  should  each  time  empty 
my  glass  to  the  bottom;  the  contrary  would  be  a  breach  of 
good  form.  As  I  very  quickly  saw  through  their  intention, 
I  escaped  from  the  difficulty  by  asking  the  waiter  to  bring 
me  a  very  small  glass.  By  emptying  this  I  could,  without 
my  manners  being  affected,  hold  my  own  against  them  all. 

But, — almost  for  the  first  time  In  my  life, — ^when  the 
company  rose  from  table  I  felt  that  I  had  been  in  exceedingly 
bad  company,  and  a  disgust  for  the  nominally  highest 
circles,  who  were  so  little  capable  of  acting  in  accordance 
with  the  reputation  they  enjoyed,  and  the  polish  imputed  to 
them,  remained  with  me  for  many  years  to  come. 


FIRST    LONG   SOJOURN   ABROAD 

My  Wish  to  See  Paris — Dualism  in  our  Modern  Philosophy — A  Journey — 
Impressions  of  Paris — Lessons  in  French — Mademoiselle  Mathilde — 
Taine. 

I. 

I  HAD  wished  for  years  to  see  Paris,  the  city  that  roused 
my  most  devout  feelings.  As  a  youth  I  had  felt  a 
kind  of  reverent  awe  for  the  French  Revolution,  which 
represented  to  me  the  beginning  of  human  conditions  for  all 
those  who  were  not  of  the  favoured  among  men, — and  Paris 
was  the  city  of  the  Revolution.  Moreover,  it  was  the  city 
of  Napoleon,  the  only  ruler  since  Cassar  who  had  seriously 
fascinated  me,  though  my  feelings  for  him  changed  so  much 
that  now  admiration,  now  aversion,  got  the  upper  hand.  And 
Paris  was  the  city,  too,  of  the  old  culture,  the  city  of  Julian 
the  Apostate,  the  city  of  the  middle  ages,  that  Victor  Hugo 
had  portrayed  in  Notre  Dame  de  Paris — the  first  book  I  had 
read  in  French,  difficult  though  it  was  with  its  many  peculiar 
expressions  for  Gothic  arches  and  buttresses — and  it  was  the 
city  where  Alfred  de  Musset  had  written  his  poems  and 
where  Delacroix  had  painted.  The  Louvre  and  the  Luxem- 
bourg, the  Theatre  Francais  and  the  Gymnase  were  immense 
treasuries  that  tempted  me.  In  the  Autumn  of  1866,  when 
Gabriel  Sibbern  started  to  Paris,  somewhat  before  I  myself 
could  get  away,  my  last  words  to  him:  "  Till  we  meet  again 
in  the  Holy  City!  "  were  by  no  means  a  jest. 

II. 

Before  T  could  start,  T  had  to  finish  the  pamphlet  which, 
with  Sibbern's  help,  I  had  written  against  Nielsen's  adjust- 
ment of  the  split  between  Protestant  orthodoxy  and  the  sci- 
entific view  of  the  universe,  and  which  I  had  called  Dualism 

163 


i64  REMINISCENCES 

in  our  Modern  Philosophy.  I  was  not  troubled  with  any 
misgivings  as  to  how  1  should  get  the  book  published.  As  long 
ago  as  1864  a  polite,  smiling,  kindly  man,  who  introduced 
himself  to  me  as  Frederik  Hegel,  the  bookseller,  had  knocked 
at  the  door  of  my  little  room  and  asked  me  to  let  him  print 
the  essay  which  1  had  written  for  my  Master  of  Arts  examina- 
tion, and  If  possible  he  would  also  like  the  paper  which  had 
won  the  University  gold  medal;  and  in  fact,  anything  else  1 
might  wish  published.  To  my  amazed  reply  that  those  essays 
were  not  worth  publishing,  and  that  In  general  I  did  not 
consider  what  I  wrote  sufficiently  mature  for  publication, 
Hegel  had  first  suggested  that  I  should  leave  that  question 
to  the  publisher,  and  then,  when  he  saw  that  my  refusal  was 
honestly  meant,  had  simply  asked  me  to  take  my  work  to 
him  when  I  myself  considered  that  the  moment  had  arrived. 
On  this  occasion,  as  on  many  others,  the  acute  and  daring 
publisher  gave  proof  of  the  flair  which  made  him  the  greatest 
in  the  North.  He  accepted  the  little  book  without  raising 
any  difficulties,  merely  remarking  that  It  would  have  to  be 
spread  out  a  little  In  the  printing,  that  it  might  not  look 
too  thin.  Even  before  the  pamphlet  was  mentioned  In  the 
Press,  Its  author  was  on  his  way  to  foreign  parts. 

III. 

On  one  of  the  first  days  of  November,  I  journeyed,  in  a 
tremendous  storm,  to  Liibeck,  the  characteristic  buildings  of 
which  (the  Church  of  Mary,  the  Exchange,  the  Town-hall), 
together  with  the  remains  of  the  old  fortifications,  aroused 
my  keen  Interest.  In  this  Hanse  town,  with  Its  strongly  indi- 
vidual stamp,  I  found  myself  carried  back  three  hundred 
years. 

I  was  amazed  at  the  slave-like  dress  of  the  workmen, 
the  pointed  hats  of  the  girls,  and  the  wood  pavements,  which 
were  new  to  me. 

I  travelled  through  Germany  with  a  Portuguese,  a  little 
doctor  from  the  University  of  Colmbra,  In  whose  queer 
French  fifteen  was  kouss  and  Goethe  Shett.  A  practical 
American,  wrapped  up  In  a  waterproof,  took  up  three  places 


FIRST   LONG    SOJOURN   ABROAD  165 

to  lie  down  in  one  evening,  pretended  to  sleep,  and  never 
stirred  all  night,  forcing  his  inexperienced  fellow-travellers  to 
crowd  up  into  the  corners  of  the  carriage,  and  when  the  day 
broke,  chatted  with  them  as  pleasantly  as  if  they  and  he  were 
the  best  friends  in  the  world. 

At  Cologne,  where  1  had  stood,  reverential,  in  the  noble 
forest  of  pillars  in  the  Cathedral,  then  afterwards,  in  my 
simplicity,  allowed  someone  to  foist  a  whole  case  of  Eau  dc 
Cologne  upon  me,  I  shortened  my  stay,  in  my  haste  to  sec 
Paris.  But,  having  by  mistake  taken  a  train  which  would 
necessitate  my  waiting  several  hours  at  Liege,  I  decided 
rather  to  continue  my  journey  to  Brussels  and  see  that  city 
too.  The  run  through  Belgium  seemed  to  me  heavenly, 
as  for  a  time  I  happened  to  be  quite  alone  in  my  compart- 
ment and  I  walked  up  and  down,  intoxicated  with  the  joy  of 
travelling. 

Brussels  was  the  first  large  French  town  I  saw;  it  was  a 
foretaste  of  Paris,  and  delighted  me. 

Never  having  been  out  in  the  world  on  my  own  account 
before,  I  was  still  as  Inexperienced  and  awkward  as  a  child. 
It  was  not  enough  that  I  had  got  into  the  wrong  train;  I  dis- 
covered, to  my  shame,  that  I  had  mislaid  the  key  of  my  box, 
which  made  me  think  anxiously  of  the  customs  officials  in 
Paris,  and  I  was  also  so  stupid  as  to  ask  the  boots  in  the  Brus- 
sels hotel  for  "a  little  room,"  so  that  they  gave  me  a  misera- 
ble little  sleeping-place  under  the  roof. 

But  at  night,  after  I  had  rambled  about  the  streets  of 
Brussels,  as  I  sat  on  a  bench  somewhere  on  a  broad  boule- 
vard, an  overwhelming,  terrifying,  transporting  sense  of  my 
solitariness  came  over  me.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  now, 
alone  in  a  foreign  land,  at  night  time,  In  this  human  swarm, 
where  no  one  knew  me  and  I  knew  no  one,  where  no  one 
would  look  for  me  If  anything  were  to  happen  to  me,  I  was 
for  the  first  time  thrown  entirely  on  my  own  resources,  and 
I  recognised  In  the  heavens,  with  a  feeling  of  reassurance,  old 
friends  among  the  stars. 

With  a  guide,  whom  In  my  ignorance  I  thought  neces- 
sary, I  saw  the  sights  of  the  town,  and  afterwards,  for  the 
first  time,  saw  a  French  play.      So  little  experience  of  the 


i66  REMINISCENCES 

world  had  I,  that,  during  the  interval,  I  left  my  overcoat, 
which  I  had  not  given  up  to  the  attendant,  lying  on  the  seat 
in  the  pit,  and  my  neighbour  had  to  explain  to  me  that  such 
great  confidence  in  my  fellow-men  was  out  of  place. 

Everything  was  new  to  me/  everything  fascinated  me. 
I,  who  only  knew  "  indulgence  "  from  my  history  lessons  at 
school,  saw  with  keen  interest  the  priest  in  a  Brussels  church 
dispense  "  indiiU^cuce  plcnicre''  or,  in  Flemish,  vollen  aflaet. 
I  was  interested  in  the  curious  names  of  the  ecclesiastical  or- 
ders posted  up  in  the  churches,  marvelled,  for  instance,  at  a 
brotherhood  that  was  called  "  St.  Andrew  Avellin,  patron 
saint  against  apoplexy,  epilepsy  and  sudden  death." 

In  the  carriage  from  Brussels  I  had  for  travelling  com- 
panion a  pretty  young  Belgian  girl  named  Marie  Choteau, 
who  was  travelling  with  her  father,  but  talked  all  the  time  to 
her  foreign  fellow-traveller,  and  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion showed  me  a  Belgian  history  and  a  Belgian  geography, 
from  which  it  appeared  that  Belgium  was  the  centre  of  the 
globe,  the  world's  most  densely  built  over,  most  religious, 
and  at  the  same  time  most  enlightened  country,  the  one  which, 
in  proportion  to  its  size,  had  the  most  and  largest  Industries. 
I  gave  her  some  of  my  bountiful  supply  of  Eau  de  Cologne. 

IV. 

The  tiring  night-journey,  with  its  full  four  hours'  wait 
at  Liege,  was  all  pure  enjoyment  to  me,  and  in  a  mood  of  mild 
ecstasy,  at  last,  at  half-past  ten  on  the  morning  of  November 
iith  1866,  I  made  my  entry  Into  Paris,  and  was  received 
cordially  by  the  proprietors  of  a  modest  but  clean  little  hotel 
which  is  still  standing,  No.  20  Rue  Notre  Dame  des  VIc- 
toires,  by  the  proprietors,  two  simple  Lorrainers,  Francois 
and  Midler,  to  whom  Gabriel  SIbbern,  who  was  staying 
there,  had  announced  my  arrival.  The  same  morning  SIb- 
bern guided  my  first  steps  to  one  of  Pasdeloup's  great  classical 
popular  concerts. 

In  the  evening,  In  spite  of  my  fatigue  after  travelling  all 
night,  I  went  to  the  Theatre  Francais  for  the  first  time,  and 
there,  lost  in  admiration  of  the  masterly  ensemble  and  the 


FIRST  LONG   SOJOURN  ABROAD  167 

natural  yet  passionate  acting,  with  which  I  had  hitherto  seen 
nothing  to  compare,  1  saw  Girardin's  Le  supplice  d'line 
femme,  and  Bcaumarchais'  Le  mariage  de  Figaro,  in  one 
evening  making  the  acquaintance  of  such  stars  as  Regnier, 
Madame  Favart,  Coquclin  ^nd  the  Sisters  Brohan. 

Regnier  especially,  in  his  simple  dignity,  was  an  unfor* 
gettable  figure,  being  surrounded,  moreover,  in  my  eyes  by 
the  glory  which  the  well-known  little  poem  of  Alfred  de 
Mussct,  written  to  comfort  the  father's  heart,  had  shed  upon 
him.  Of  the  tsvo  celebrated  sisters,  Augustine  was  all  wit, 
Madeleine  pure  beauty  and  arch,  melting  grace. 

These  first  days  were  rich  days  to  me,  and  as  they  did 
not  leave  me  any  time  for  thinking  over  what  I  had  seen,  my 
impressions  overwhelmed  me  at  night,  till  sometimes  I  could 
not  sleep  for  sheer  happiness.  This,  to  me,  was  happiness, 
an  uninterrupted  garnering  of  intellectual  wealth  in  associa- 
tion with  objects  that  all  appealed  to  my  sympathies,  and  I 
wrote  home  :  "  To  be  here,  young,  healthy,  with  alert  senses, 
keen  eyes  and  good  ears,  with  all  the  curiosity,  eagerness 
to  know,  love  of  learning,  and  susceptibility  to  every  impres- 
sion, that  is  youth's  own  prerogative,  and  to  have  no  wor- 
ries about  home,  all  that  is  so  great  a  happiness  that  I  am 
sometimes  tempted,  like  Polycrates,  to  fling  the  handsome 
ring  I  had  from  Christian  Richardt  in  the  gutter." 

For  the  rest,  I  was  too  fond  of  characteristic  architec- 
ture to  feel  attracted  by  the  building  art  displayed  in  the 
long,  regular  streets  of  Napoleon  IIL,  and  too  permeated 
with  national  prejudices  to  be  able  at  once  to  appreciate 
French  sculpture.  I  was  justified  in  feeling  repelled  by  many 
empty  allegorical  pieces  on  public  monuments,  but  during  the 
first  weeks  I  lacked  perception  for  such  good  sculpture  as  is 
to  be  found  in  the  foyer  of  the  Theatre  Franqals.  "  You 
feel  at  every  step,"  I  wrote  immediately  after  my  arrival, 
"  that  France  has  never  had  a  Thorwaldsen,  and  that  Den- 
mark possesses  an  indescribable  treasure  in  him.  We  are  and 
remain,  In  three  or  four  directions,  the  first  nation  In  Europe. 
This  Is  pure  and  simple  truth." 

To  my  youthful  Ignorance  it  was  the  truth,  but  it  hardly 
remained  such  after  the  first  month. 


i68  REMINISCENCES 

Being  anxious  to  see  as  much  as  possible  and  not  let 
anything  of  interest  escape  mc,  I  went  late  to  bed,  and  yet 
got  up  early,  and  tried  to  regulate  my  time,  as  one  does  a 
blanket  that  is  too  short. 

I  was  immensely  interested  in  the  art  treasures  from  all 
over  the  world  collected  in  the  Louvre.  Every  single  morn- 
ing, after  eating  my  modest  breakfast  at  a  cremerie  near  the 
chateau,  I  paid  my  vows  in  the  Salon  cane  and  then  absorbed 
myself  in  the  other  halls.  The  gallery  of  the  Louvre  was  the 
one  to  which  I  owe  my  Initiation.  Before,  I  had  seen  hardly 
any  Italian  art  in  the  original,  and  no  French  at  all.  In 
Copenhagen  I  had  been  able  to  worship  all  the  Dutch  mas- 
ters. Leonardo  and  the  Venetians  spoke  to  me  here  for  the 
first  time.  French  painting  and  sculpture,  Puget  and  Hou- 
don,  Clouet  and  Delacroix,  and  the  P>ench  art  that  was 
modern  then,  I  learnt  for  the  first  time  to  love  and  appreciate 
at  the  Luxembourg. 

I  relished  these  works  of  art,  and  the  old-time  art  of  the 
Greeks  and  Egyptians  which  the  Museum  of  the  Louvre  con- 
tained. In  a  mild  intoxication  of  delight. 

And  I  inbreathed  Paris  into  my  soul.  When  on  the 
broad,  handsome  Place  de  la  Concorde,  I  saw  at  the  same 
time,  with  my  bodily  eyes,  the  beautifully  impressive  obelisk, 
and  In  my  mind's  eye  the  scaffold  on  which  the  royal  pair 
met  with  their  death  in  the  Revolution;  when  In  the  Latin 
quarter  I  went  upstairs  to  the  house  In  which  Charlotte  Cor- 
day  murdered  Marat,  or  when,  in  the  highest  storey  of  the 
Louvre,  I  gazed  at  the  little  gray  coat  from  Marengo  and 
the  three-cornered  hat,  or  from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  let  my 
glance  roam  over  the  city,  the  life  that  pulsated  through  my 
veins  seemed  stimulated  tenfold  by  sight  and  visions. 

Yet  It  was  not  only  the  city  of  Paris,  Its  appearance,  Its 
art  gems,  that  I  eagerly  made  my  own,  and  with  them  much 
that  Intellectually  belonged  to  Italy  or  the  Netherlands;  It 
was  French  culture,  the  best  that  the  French  nature  contains, 
the  fragrance  of  her  choicest  flow^ers,  that  I  Inhaled. 

And  while  thus  for  the  first  time  learning  to  know 
French  people,  and  French  intellectual  life,  I  was  unexpect- 
edly admitted  to  constant  association  with  men  and  women 


FIRST  LONG   SOJOURN   ABROAD  169 

of   the   other  leading    Romance   races,    Italians,    Spaniards, 
Portuguese,  Brazilians. 

Brochner  had  given  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Cos- 
tanza  Testa,  a  friend  of  his  youth,  now  married  to  Count 
Oreste  Blanchetti  and  living  in  Paris,  with  her  somewhat 
older  sister  Virginia,  a  kind-hearted  and  amiable  woman  of 
the  world.  The  latter  had  married  in  Brazil,  as  her  second 
husband,  the  Italian  banker  Pagella,  and  to  their  house  came, 
not  only  Italians  and  other  European  Southerners,  but  mem- 
bers of  the  South  American  colony. 

So  warm  a  reception  as  I  met  with  from  the  two  sisters 
and  their  husbands  I  had  never  had  anywhere  before.  After 
I  had  known  the  two  families  one  hour,  these  people  treated 
me  as  though  I  were  their  Intimate  friend;  Costanza's 
younger  brother,  they  called  me.  I  had  a  seat  In  their  car- 
riage every  day,  when  the  ladies  drove  out  In  the  Bols  de  Bou- 
logne; they  never  had  a  box  at  the  Italian  opera,  where 
Adelina  Patti's  first  notes  were  delighting  her  countrymen, 
without  sending  me  a  seat.  They  expected  me  every  even- 
ing, however  late  It  often  might  be  when  I  came  from  the 
theatre.  In  their  drawing-room,  where,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  their  country,  they  always  received  the  same  circle 
of  friends. 

I  was  sincerely  attached  to  the  two  sisters,  and  felt  my- 
self at  ease  In  their  house,  although  the  conversation  there 
was  chiefly  carried  on  In  a  language  of  which  I  understood 
but  little,  since  French  was  spoken  only  on  my  account.  The 
only  shadow  over  my  pleasure  at  spending  my  evenings  in 
the  Rue  Valols  du  Roule  was  the  fact  that  this  necessitated 
my  missing  some  acts  at  the  Theatre  Francals,  for  which 
the  Danish  Minister,  through  the  Embassy,  had  procured 
me  a  free  pass.  Certainly  no  Dane  was  ever  made  so  happy 
by  the  favour.  They  were  enraptured  hours  that  I  spent 
evening  after  evening  in  the  French  national  theatre,  where 
I  became  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  modern,  as  well  as 
the  classical,  dramatic  repertoire, — an  acquaintance  which 
was  further  fortified  during  my  long  stay  In  Paris  In  1870. 

I  enjoyed  the  moderation  of  the  best  actors,  their  re- 
straint, and  subordination  of  self  to  the  role  and  the  general 


170  REMINISCENCES 

effect.  It  is  true  that  the  word  genius  could  oiily  be  ap- 
phed  to  a  very  few  of  the  actors,  and  at  that  time  I  saw  none 
who,  in  my  opinion,  could  be  compared  with  the  great  rep- 
resentatives of  the  Danish  stage,  such  as  Michael  Wiehe, 
Johanne  Luise  Heiberg,  or  Phister.  But  I  perceived  at  once 
that  the  mannerisms  of  these  latter  would  not  be  tolerated 
here  for  a  moment;  here,  under  the  influence  of  this  artistic 
whole-harmony,  they  would  never  have  been  able  to  give  tree 
vent  to  individuality  and  peculiarity  as  they  did  at  home. 

I  saw  many  hundred  performances  in  these  first  years 
of  my  youth  at  the  Theatre  Francais,  which  was  then  at  its 
zenith.  There,  if  anywhere,  I  felt  the  silent  march  of  the 
French  muses  through  Time  and  Space. 

y. 

A  capable  journalist  named  Gregoire,  a  sickly,  prema- 
turely aged,  limping  fellow,  with  alert  wits,  an  Alsatian,  who 
knew  Danish  and  regularly  read  Bille's  Daily  Paper,  had 
in  many  ways  taken  me  up  almost  from  the  first  day  of  my 
sojourn  on  French  soil.  This  man  recommended  me,  on  my 
expressing  a  wish  to  meet  with  a  competent  teacher,  to  take 
instruction  in  the  language  from  a  young  girl,  a  friend  of  his 
sister,  who  was  an  orphan  and  lived  with  her  aunt.  She 
was  of  good  family,  the  daughter  of  a  colonel  and  the  grand- 
daughter of  an  admiral,  but  her  own  and  her  aunt's  circum- 
stances were  narrow,  and  she  was  anxious  to  give  lessons. 

When  I  objected  that  such  lessons  could  hardly  be  really 
instructive,  I  was  told  that  she  was  not  only  in  every  way  a 
nice  but  a  very  gifted  and  painstaking  young  girl. 

The  first  time  I  entered  the  house,  as  a  future  pupil,  I 
found  the  young  lady,  dressed  in  a  plain  black  silk  dress, 
surrounded  by  a  circle  of  toddlers  of  both  sexes,  for  whom 
she  had  a  sort  of  school,  and  whom  on  my  arrival  she  sent 
away.  She  had  a  pretty  figure,  a  face  that  was  attractive 
without  being  beautiful,  a  large  mouth  with  good  teeth,  and 
dark  brown  hair.  Her  features  were  a  little  indefinite,  her 
face  rather  broad  than  oval,  her  eyes  brown  and  affectionate. 
She  had  at  any  rate  the  beauty  that  twenty  years  lends. 


FIRST  LONG  SOJOURN  ABROAD  171 

We  arranged  for  four  lessons  a  week,  to  begin  with. 

The  lirst  dragged  considerably.  My  teacher  was  to 
correct  any  mistakes  In  pronunciation  and  grammar  that  I 
made  In  conversation.  But  we  could  not  get  up  any  proper 
conversation.  She  was  evidently  bored  by  the  lessons,  which 
she  had  only  undertaken  for  the  sake  of  the  fees.  If  I  be- 
gan to  tell  her  anything,  she  only  half  listened,  and  yawned 
with  all  her  might  very  often  and  very  loudly,  although  she 
politely  put  her  hand  in  front  of  her  large  mouth.  There 
only  came  a  little  animation  into  her  expression  when  I  either 
pronounced  as  badly  as  I  had  been  taught  by  my  French 
master  at  school,  or  made  some  particularly  ludicrous  mis- 
take, such  as  c'est  tout  egal  for  hien  egal.  At  other  times 
she  was  distracted,  sleepy,  her  thoughts  elsewhere. 

After  having  tried  vainly  for  a  few  times  to  interest 
the  young  lady  by  my  communications,  I  grew  tired  of  the 
lessons.  Moreover,  they  were  of  very  little  advantage  to 
me,  for  the  simple  reason  that  my  youthful  teacher  had  not 
the  very  slightest  scientific  or  even  grammatical  knowledge 
of  her  own  tongue,  and  consequently  could  never  answer  my 
questions  as  to  why  you  had  to  pronounce  in  such  and  such 
a  way,  or  by  virtue  of  what  rule  you  expressed  yourself  In 
such  and  such  a  manner.  I  began  to  neglect  my  lessons, 
sometimes  made  an  excuse,  but  oftener  remained  away  with- 
out ottering  any  explanation. 

On  my  arrival  one  afternoon,  after  having  repeatedly 
stayed  away,  the  young  lady  met  me  with  some  temper,  and 
asked  the  reason  of  my  failures  to  come,  plainly  enough  irri- 
tated and  alarmed  at  my  Indifference,  which  after  all  was 
only  the  reflection  of  her  own.  I  promised  politely  to  be 
more  regular  in  future.  To  insure  this,  she  involuntarily  be- 
came more  attentive. 

She  yawned  no  more.     I  did  not  stay  away  again. 

She  began  to  take  an  interest  herself  in  this  eldest  pupil 
of  hers,  who  at  24  years  of  age  looked  20  and  who  was 
acquainted  with  all  sorts  of  things  about  conditions,  countries, 
and  people  of  which  she  knew  nothing. 

She  had  been  so  strictly  brought  up  that  nearly  all  secu- 
lar reading  was  forbidden  to  her,  and  she  had  never  been. 


172  REMINISCENCES 

to  any  theatre,  not  even  the  Theatre  Frangais.  She  had  not 
read  Victor  Hugo,  Lamartine,  or  Musset,  had  not  even 
dared  to  read  Paul  et  Virginie,  only  knew  expurgated  edi- 
tions of  Corneille,  Racine  and  Moliere.  She  was  sincerely 
clerical,  had  early  been  somewhat  influenced  by  her  cousin, 
later  the  well-known  Roman  Catholic  author,  Ernest  Hello, 
and  In  our  conversations  was  always  ready  to  take  the  part 
of  the  Jesuits  against  Pascal;  what  the  latter  had  attacked 
were  some  antiquated  and  long-abandoned  doctrinal  books; 
even  If  there  were  defects  In  the  teaching  of  certain  Catholic 
ecclesiastics,  their  lives  at  any  rate  were  exemplary,  whereas 
the  contrary  was  the  case  with  the  free-thinking  men  of  sci- 
ence; their  teaching  was  sometimes  unassailable,  but  the  lives 
they  led  could  not  be  taken  seriously. 

When  we  two  young  people  got  into  a  dispute,  we  grad- 
ually drew  nearer  to  one  another.  Our  remarks  contradicted 
each  other,  but  an  understanding  came  about  betvveen  our 
eyes.  One  day,  as  I  was  about  to  leave,  she  called  me  back 
from  the  staircase,  and,  very  timidly,  offered  me  an  orange. 
The  next  time  she  blushed  slightly  when  I  came  In.  She 
frequently  sent  me  cards  of  admission  to  the  Athenee,  a  re- 
cently started  institution.  In  which  lectures  were  given  by 
good  speakers.  She  began  to  look  pleased  at  my  coming 
and  to  express  regret  at  the  thought  of  my  departure. 

On  New  Year's  day,  as  a  duty  gift,  I  had  sent  her  a 
bouquet  of  white  flowers,  and  the  next  day  she  had  tears  in 
her  eyes  as  she  thanked  me:  "  I  ask  you  to  believe  that  I 
highly  appreciate  your  attention."  From  that  time  forth 
she  spoke  more  and  more  often  of  how  empty  it  would  be 
for  her  when  I  was  gone.  I  was  not  In  love  with  her,  but 
was  too  young  for  her  feelings,  so  unreservedly  expressed,  to 
leave  me  unaffected,  and  likewise  young  enough  to  imagine 
that  she  expected  me  before  long  to  ask  for  her  hand.  So 
I  soon  informed  her  that  I  did  not  feel  so  warmly  towards 
her  as  she  did  towards  me,  and  that  I  was  not  thinking  of 
binding  myself  for  the  present. 

"  Do  you  think  me  so  poor  an  observer?"  she  replied, 
amazed.  "I  have  never  made  any  claims  upon  you,  even  in 
my  thoughts.    But  I  owe  you  the  happiest  month  of  my  life." 


FIRST  LONG  SOJOURN  ABROAD  173 

VI. 

This  was  about  the  state  of  affairs  between  Mademoi- 
selle Louise  and  me,  when  one  evening,  at  Pagella's,  where 
there  were  Southerners  of  various  races  present,  I  was  intro- 
duced to  a  young  lady,  Mademoiselle  Mathilde  M.,  who  at 
first  sight  made  a  powerful  impression  upon  me. 

She  was  a  young  Spanish  Brazilian,  tall  of  stature,  a 
proud  and  dazzling  racial  beauty.  The  contours  of  her 
head  were  so  impeccably  perfect  that  one  scarcely  understood 
how  Nature  could  have  made  such  a  being  inadvertently, 
without  design.  The  rosy  hue  of  her  complexion  made  the 
carnation  even  of  a  beautiful  woman's  face  look  chalky  or 
crimson  by  the  side  of  hers.  At  the  same  time  there  was  a 
something  in  the  colour  of  her  skin  that  made  me  under- 
stand better  the  womanish  appearance  of  Zurbaran  and  Ri- 
bera,  a  warm  glow  which  I  had  never  seen  in  Nature  before. 
Her  heavy,  bluish-black  hair  hung  down,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  day,  in  little  curls  over  her  forehead  and  fell  in  thick 
ringlets  upon  her  shoulders.  Her  eyebrows  were  exquisitely 
pencilled,  arched  and  almost  met  over  her  delicate  nose,  her 
eyes  were  burning  and  a  deep  brown;  they  conquered,  and 
smiled;  her  mouth  was  a  little  too  small,  with  white  teeth 
that  were  a  little  too  large,  her  bust  slender  and  full.  Her 
manner  was  distinguished,  her  voice  rich;  but  most  man'el- 
lous  of  all  was  her  hand,  such  a  hand  as  Parmegglanino  might 
have  painted,  all  soul,  branching  off  into  five  delightful 
fingers. 

Mentally  I  unhesitatingly  dubbed  her  the  most  marvel- 
ous feminine  creature  I  had  ever  seen,  and  that  less  on  ac- 
count of  her  loveliness  than  the  blending  of  the  magnificence 
of  her  bearing  with  the  ardour,  and  often  the  frolicsomeness, 
of  her  mode  of  expression. 

She  was  always  vigorous  and  sometimes  daring  in  her 
statements,  cared  only  for  the  unusual,  loved  only  "  the  im- 
possible," but  nevertheless  carefully  obsen-ed  every  estab- 
lished custom  of  society.  To  my  very  first  remark  to  her, 
to  the  effect  that  the  weakness  of  women  was  mostly  only 
an  habitual  phrase;  they  were  not  weak  except  when  they 


174  REMINISCENCES 

wished  to  be,  she  replied :  "  Young  as  you  are,  you  know 
women  very  well !  "     In  that  she  was  quite  wrong. 

Besides  Spanish  and  Portuguese,  she  spoke  French  per- 
fectly and  English  not  badly,  sang  in  a  melodious  contralto 
voice,  drew  well  for  an  amateur,  carved  alabaster  vases,  and 
had  all  kinds  of  talents.  She  did  not  care  to  sing  ballads, 
only  cared  for  grand  pathos. 

She  was  just  twenty  years  of  age,  and  had  come  into 
the  world  at  Rio,  where  her  father  represented  the  Spanish 
government.  The  family  were  descended  from  Cervantes. 
As  she  had  early  been  left  motherless,  her  father  had  sent 
her  over  in  her  fifteenth  year  to  her  aunt  in  Paris.  This 
latter  was  married  to  an  old  monstrosity  of  a  Spaniard,  re- 
ligious to  the  verge  of  insanity,  who  would  seem  to  have 
committed  some  crime  in  his  youth  and  now  spent  his  whole 
day  in  the  church,  which  was  next  door  to  his  house,  implor- 
ing forgiveness  for  his  sins.  He  was  only  at  home  at  meal- 
times, when  he  ate  an  alarming  amount,  and  he  associated 
only  with  priests.  The  aunt  herself,  however,  in  spite  of  her 
age,  was  a  pleasure-seeking  woman,  rarely  allowed  her  niece 
to  stay  at  home  and  occupy  herself  as  she  liked,  but  dragged 
her  everywhere  about  with  her  to  parties  and  balls.  In  her 
aunt's  company  she  sometimes  felt  depressed,  but  alone  she 
was  cheerful  and  without  a  care.  At  the  Pagellas'  she  was 
like  a  child  of  the  house.  She  had  the  Spanish  love  of  cere- 
mony and  magnificence,  the  ready  repartee  of  the  Parisian, 
and,  like  a  well-brought-up  girl,  knew  how  to  preserve  the 
balance  between  friendliness  and  mirth.  She  was  not  in  the 
least  prudish,  and  she  understood  everything;  but  there  was 
a  certain  sublimity  in  her  manner. 

While  Mademoiselle  Louise,  the  little  Parisian,  had 
been  brought  up  in  a  convent,  kept  from  all  free,  intelligent, 
mundane  conversation,  and  all  free  artistic  Impressions,  the 
young  Spaniard,  at  the  same  age,  had  the  education  and  the 
style  of  a  woman  of  the  world  In  her  manner. 

We  two  young  frequenters  of  the  Pagella  salon,  felt 
powerfully  drawn  to  one  another.  We  understood  one  an- 
other at  once.  Of  course,  It  was  onlv  T  who  was  fascinated. 
When,  in  an  evening,  I  drove  across  Paris  in  the  expectation 


FIRST  LONG  SOJOURN  ABROAD  175 

of  seeing  her,  I  sometimes  murmured  to  myself  Henrik 
Hertz's  verse: 

''  My  beloved  is  like  the  dazzling  day, 
Brazilia's  Summer!" 

My  feelings,  however,  were  much  more  admiration  than  love 
or  desire.  1  did  not  really  want  to  possess  her.  I  never 
felt  myself  quite  on  a  level  with  her  even  when  she  made  de- 
cided advances  to  me.  I  rejoiced  over  her  as  over  something 
perfect,  and  there  was  the  rich,  foreign  colouring  about  her 
that  there  had  been  about  the  birds  of  paradise  in  my  nur- 
sery. She  seldom  disturbed  my  peace  of  mind,  but  I  said 
to  myself  that  if  1  were  to  go  away  then,  I  should  in  all  prob- 
ability never  see  her  again,  as  her  father  would  be  taking 
her  the  next  year  to  Brazil  or  Madrid,  and  I  sometimes  felt 
as  though  I  should  be  going  away  from  my  happiness  forever. 
She  often  asked  me  to  stay  with  such  expressions  and  with 
such  an  expression  that  I  was  quite  bewildered.  And  then 
she  monopolised  my  thoughts  altogether,  like  the  queenly 
being  she  was. 

A  Danish  poet  had  once  called  the  beautiful  women  of 
the  South  "  Large,  showy  flowers  without  fragrance."  Was 
she  a  large,  showy  flower?  Forget-me-nots  were  certainly 
by  no  means  showy,  but  they  were  none  the  more  odorous  for 
that. 

Now  that  I  was  seeing  the  radiant  Mathllde  almost 
every  day,  my  position  with  regard  to  Louise  seemed  to  me 
a  false  one.  I  did  not  yet  know  how  exceedingly  rare  an 
undivided  feeling  is,  did  not  understand  that  my  feelings 
towards  Mathllde  were  just  as  incomplete  as  those  T  cherished 
for  Louise.  I  looked  on  Mademoiselle  Mathllde  as  on  a 
work  of  art,  but  T  came  more  humanly  close  to  Mademoiselle 
Louise.  She  did  not  evoke  my  enthusiastic  admiration; 
that  was  quite  true,  but  Mademoiselle  Mathllde  evoked  my 
enthusiastic  admiration  only.  If  there  were  a  great  deal  of 
compassion  minffled  with  my  feelings  for  the  Parisian,  there 
was  likewise  a  slight  erotic  element. 

The  young  Frenchwoman,  in  her  passion,  found  expres- 
sions for  affection  and  tenderness,  in  which  she  forgot  all 


176  REMINISCENCES 

pride.  She  lived  in  a  commingling,  veiy  painful  for  me,  of 
happiness  at  my  still  being  in  Paris,  and  of  horror  at  my  ap- 
proaching departure,  which  I  was  now  about  to  accelerate, 
merely  to  escape  from  the  extraordinary  situation  in  which  I 
found  myself,  and  which  I  was  too  young  to  carry.  Al- 
though Mathilde,  whom  I  had  never  seen  alone,  was  always 
the  same,  quite  the  great  lady,  perfectly  self-controlled,  it 
was  the  thought  of  saying  good-bye  to  her  that  was  the  more 
painful  to  me.  Every  other  day,  on  the  other  hand,  Louise 
was  trembling  and  ill,  and  I  dreaded  the  moment  of  separa- 
tion. 

VII. 

I  had  not  left  off  my  daily  work  In  Paris,  but  had  read 
industriously  at  the  Imperial  Library.  I  had  also  attended 
many  lectures,  some  occasionally,  others  regularly,  such  as 
those  of  Janet,  Caro,  Leveque  and  Taine. 

Of  all  contemporary  French  writers,  I  was  fondest  of 
Taine.  I  had  begun  studying  this  historian  and  thinker  in 
Copenhagen.  The  first  book  of  his  that  I  read  was  The 
French  Philosophers  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  in  a  copy  that 
had  been  lent  to  me  by  Gabriel  Sibbern,  The  book  en- 
tranced me,  and  I  determined  to  read  every  word  that 
I  could  get  hold  of  by  the  same  author.  In  the  Imperial  Li- 
brary in  Paris  I  read  first  of  all  The  History  of  English  Lit- 
erature, of  which  I  had  hitherto  only  been  acquainted  with  a 
few  fragments,  which  had  appeared  in  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondcs.  Taine  was  to  me  an  antidote  to  German  abstrac- 
tion and  German  pedantry.  Through  him  I  found  the  way 
to  my  own  inmost  nature,  which  my  Dane-German  Univer- 
sity education  had  covered  over. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  in  Paris,  therefore,  I  had  writ- 
ten to  Taine  and  begged  for  an  interview.  By  a  singular 
piece  of  ill-luck  his  reply  to  me  was  lost,  and  it  was  only  at 
the  very  end  of  my  stay  that  I  received  a  second  invitation 
to  go  to  him.  Although  this  one  conversation  could  not 
be  of  any  vast  importance  to  me,  it  was  nevertheless  the  first 
personal  link  between  me  and  the  man  who  was  and  remained 
my  greatly  loved  master  and  deliverer,  even  though  I  mis- 


FIRST  LONG   SOJOURN  ABROAD  177 

trusted  his  essential  teachings.  I  was  afraid  that  I  had  cre- 
ated a  bad  impression,  as  I  had  wasted  the  time  raising  objec- 
tions; but  Taine  knew  human  nature  well  enough  to  perceive 
the  personality  behind  the  clumsy  form  and  the  admiration 
behind  the  criticism.  In  reality,  I  was  filled  with  passionate 
gratitude  towards  Taine,  and  this  feeling  remained  unaltered 
until  his  latest  hour. 

During  this  my  first  stay  In  Paris  I  added  the  impres- 
sion of  Taine's  personality  to  the  wealth  of  Impressions  that 
I  took  back  with  me  from  Paris  to  Copenhagen. 


EARLY    MANHOOD 

Feud  in  Danish  Literature — Riding — Youthful  Longings — On  the  Rack — My 
First  Living  Erotic  Reality — An  Impression  of  the  Miseries  of  Modern 
Coercive  Marriage — Researches  on  the  Comic — Dramatic  Criticism — A 
Trip  to  Germany — Johanne  Louise  Heiberg — Magdalene  Thoresen — 
Rudolph  Bergh — The  Sisters  Spang — A  Foreign  Element — The  Woman 
Subject — Orla  Lehmann — M.  Goldschmidt — Public  Opposition — A  Letter 
from  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson — Hard  Work. 

I. 

AFTER  my  return  from  France  to  Denmark,  In  1867, 
my  thoughts  were  taken  up  once  more  by  the  feud 
that  had  broken  out  in  Danish  literature  between 
Science  and  so-called  Revelation  (in  the  language  of  the 
time,  Faith  and  Knowledge).  More  and  more  had  by  de- 
grees entered  the  lists,  and  I,  who  centred  my  greatest  intel- 
lectual interest  in  the  battle,  took  part  in  it  with  a  dual  front, 
against  the  orthodox  theologians,  and  more  especially  against 
R.  Nielsen,  the  assailant  of  the  theologians,  whom  I  regarded 
as  no  less  theologically  inclined  than  his  opponents. 

I  thereby  myself  became  the  object  of  a  series  of  violent 
attacks  from  various  quarters.  These  did  not  have  any  ap- 
preciable effect  on  my  spirits,  but  they  forced  me  for  years 
into  a  somewhat  irritating  attitude  of  self-defence.  Still  I 
was  now  arrived  at  that  period  of  my  youth  when  philosophy 
and  art  were  unable  to  keep  temperament  in  check. 

II. 

This  manifested  itself  first  in  a  fresh  need  for  physi- 
cal exercise.  During  the  first  two  years  after  the  decision 
of  1864,  while  things  were  leading  up  to  war  between  Prus- 
sia and  Austria,  and  while  the  young  blood  of  Denmark  im- 
agmed  that  their  country  would  be  drawn  into  this  war,  I 

178 


EARLY   MANHOOD  179 

had  taken  part,  as  a  member  of  the  Academic  Shooting  So- 
ciety, in  drill  and  shooting  practice.  After  the  battle  of  Kon- 
iggratz  these  occupations  lost  much  of  their  attraction. 

I  was  now  going  in  for  an  exercise  that  was  new  to  me 
and  which  I  had  long  wished  to  become  proficient  in.  This 
was  riding. 

Up  to  that  time  I  had  never  been  able  to  afford  to  ride. 
But  just  then  a  captain  of  the  dragoons  offered  to  teach  me 
for  a  very  low  fee,  and  in  the  Queen's  Riding-School  I  was 
initiated  during  the  Spring  months  into  the  elementary  stages 
of  the  art.  In  order  that  in  Summer  I  might  be  able  to  ride 
out.  These  riding-lessons  were  the  keenest  possible  delight 
to  me.  I,  who  so  seldom  felt  happy,  and  still  more  seldom 
jubilant,  was  positively  exultant  as  I  rode  out  in  the  morning 
along  the  Strand  Road.  Even  if  I  had  had  an  almost  sleep- 
less night  I  felt  fresh  on  horseback. 

It  was  no  pleasure  to  me  to  ride  the  same  horse  often, 
if  I  knew  its  disposition.  I  liked  to  change  as  often  as  pos- 
sible, and  preferred  rather  difficult  horses  to  mares  too  well 
broken  in.  I  felt  the  arrogant  pride  of  youth  seethe  In  my 
veins  as  I  galloped  briskly  along. 

I  was  still  far  from  an  accomplished  horseman  when  an 
examination  of  my  finances  warned  me  that  I  must  give  up 
my  riding  lessons. 

When  I  informed  my  instructor  that  I  could  no  longer 
allow  myself  the  pleasure  of  his  lessons,  and  in  reply  to  his 
"  Why?  "  had  mentioned  the  reason,  the  captain  answered 
that  it  would  be  very  easy  to  settle  that  matter:  he  had  a  sis- 
ter, an  elderly  maiden  lady,  who  was  passionately  fond  of  lit- 
erature and  literary  history.  Lessons  in  that  subject  could 
to  our  mutual  satisfaction  balance  the  riding  lessons,  which 
could  thus  go  on  indefinitely.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  how 
welcome  the  proposition  was  to  me.     It  was  such  a  relief! 

The  captain  was  a  pleasant,  good-natured  man,  quite 
uneducated  in  literary  matters,  who  confidingly  communi- 
cated his  bachelor  experiences  to  his  pupil.  These  were 
summed  up  in  the  reflection  that  when  womenkind  fall  In 
love,  they  dread  neither  fire  nor  water;  the  captain  himself, 
who  yet,   In  his  own  opinion,   only  looked  well  on  horse- 


i8o  REMINISCENCES 

back,  had  once  had  an  affair  with  a  married  lady  who 
bombarded  him  with  letters,  and  who,  in  her  ardour,  began 
writing  one  day  without  noticing  that  her  husband,  who  was 
standing  behind  hei  chair,  was  looking  over  her  shoulder. 
Since  then  the  captain  had  not  felt  the  need  of  women,  so  to 
speak,  preferred  to  be  without  them,  and  found  his  greatest 
pleasure  in  his  horses  and  his  skill  as  an  equestrian. 

The  sistei  was  a  maiden  lady  of  forty,  by  no  means 
devoid  of  intellectual  ability,  with  talent  for  observation  and 
an  appreciation  of  good  books,  but  whose  development  had 
been  altogether  neglected-  She  now  cherished  an  ambition 
to  write.  She  wrote  in  secret  little  tales  that  were  not  really 
stupid  but  had  not  the  slightest  pretensions  to  style  or  liter- 
ary talent.  She  was  very  plain  and  exceedingly  stout,  which 
produced  a  comical  effect,  especially  as  she  was  inclined  to 
exaggeration  both  of  speech  and  gesture. 

There  was  a  disproportion  between  the  ages  of  the  mas- 
ter and  the  pupil,  in  my  eyes  she  was  quite  an  old  person,  in 
her  eyes,  being  her  intellectual  equal,  I  was  likewise  her 
equal  in  age.  In  the  natural  order  of  things  she  felt  more 
personal  sympathy  for  me  than  I  for  her.  Consequently,  I 
involuntarily  put  a  dash  of  teasing  into  my  instruction,  and 
occasionally  made  fun  of  her  sentimentality,  and  when  the 
large  lady,  half  angry%  half  distressed,  rose  to  seize  hold  of 
me  and  give  me  a  shaking,  I  would  run  round  the  table,  pur- 
sued by  her,  or  shoot  out  a  chair  between  her  and  myself, — 
which  indubitably  did  not  add  to  the  dignity  of  our  lessons. 

There  was  no  question  of  thorough  or  connected  in- 
struction. What  the  lady  wanted  more  particularly  was  that 
I  should  go  through  her  literary  attempts  and  correct  them, 
but  corrections  could  not  transform  them  into  art.  And  so 
it  came  about  that  after  no  ven'  long  time  I  gave  up  these 
arduous  lessons,  although  obliged  to  give  up  my  precious 
riding  lessons  at  the  same  time. 

Consequently  I  never  became  a  really  expert  rider,  al- 
though during  the  next  few  years  I  had  a  ride  now  and  then. 
But  after  a  severe  attack  of  phlebitis  following  upon  typhoid 
fever,  in  1870-71,  T  was  compelled  to  give  up  all  the  physical 
exercises  that  I  loved  best. 


EARLY   MANHOOD  i8i 

III. 

My  temperament  expressed  itself  in  a  profusion  of 
youthful  longings,  as  well  as  in  my  love  of  athletics. 

During  my  University  studies,  in  my  real  budding 
manhood,  1  had  voluntarily  cut  myself  away  from  the  usual 
erotic  diversions  of  youth.  Precocious  though  I  was  in 
purely  intellectual  development,  I  was  very  backward  in 
erotic  experience.  In  that  respect  I  was  many  years  younger 
than  my  age. 

On  my  return,  my  Paris  experiences  at  first  exercised  me 
greatly.  Between  the  young  French  lady  and  myself  an  ac- 
tive correspondence  had  sprung  up,  while  the  young  Span- 
lard's  radiant  figure  continued  to  retain  the  same  place  in  my 
thoughts. 

Then  my  surroundings  claimed  their  rights,  and  it  was 
not  without  emotion  that  I  realised  how  charming  the  girls 
at  home  were.  For  I  was  only  then  entering  upon  the  Cher- 
ubino  stage  of  my  existence,  when  the  sight  of  feminine  grace 
or  beauty  immediately  transports  a  youth  into  a  mild  state  of 
love  intoxication. 

It  was  incredible  how  rich  the  world  was  in  bewitch- 
ing creatures,  and  the  world  of  Copenhagen  especially.  If 
you  walked  down  Crown  Princess  Street,  at  a  window  on  the 
ground  floor  you  saw  a  dark  girl  with  a  Grecian-shaped  head 
and  two  brown  eyes,  exquisitely  set,  beneath  a  high  and  noble 
forehead.  She  united  the  chaste  purity  of  Pallas  Athene 
with  a  stern,  attractive  grace. 

If  you  went  out  towards  the  north  side  of  the  town,  there 
was  a  house  there  on  the  first  floor  of  which  you  were  very 
welcome,  where  a  handsome  and  well-bred  couple  once  a  week 
received  young  men  for  the  sake  of  the  lady's  young  niece. 
The  master  of  the  house  was  a  lean  and  silent  man,  who  al- 
ways looked  handsome,  and  was  always  dignified;  he  had  hon- 
ourably filled  an  exalted  oflBcial  post.  His  wife  had  been  very 
attractive  in  her  youth,  had  grown  white  while  still  quite 
young,  and  was  now  a  handsome  woman  with  snow-white 
curls  clustering  round  her  fresh-coloured  face.  To  me  she 
bore,  as  it  were,  an  invisible  mark  upon  her  forehead,  for 


i82  REMINISCENCES 

when  quite  a  young  girl  she  had  been  loved  by  a  great  man. 
She  was  sincerely  kind  and  genuinely  pleasant,  but  the  advan- 
tage of  knowing  her  was  not  great ;  for  that  she  was  too 
restless  a  hostess.  When  it  was  her  At  Home  she  never 
remained  long  enough  with  one  group  of  talkers  properly  to 
understand  what  was  being  discussed.  After  about  a  minute 
she  hurried  off  to  the  opposite  corner  of  the  drawing-room, 
said  a  few  words  there,  and  then  passed  on  to  look  after 
the  tea. 

It  was  neither  to  see  her  nor  her  husband  that  many  of 
the  young  people  congregated  at  the  house.  It  was  for  the 
sake  of  the  eighteen-year-old  fairy  maiden,  her  niece,  whose 
face  was  one  to  haunt  a  man's  dreams.  It  was  not  from  her 
features  that  the  witchery  emanated,  although  in  shape  her 
face  was  a  faultless  oval,  her  narrow  forehead  high  and  well- 
shaped,  her  chin  powerful.  Neither  was  it  from  the  person- 
ality one  obtained  a  glimpse  of  through  her  features.  The 
girl's  character  and  mental  quality  seemed  much  the  same  as 
that  of  other  girls;  she  was  generally  silent,  or  communica- 
tive about  trifles,  and  displayed  no  other  coquetry  than  the 
very  innocent  delight  in  pleasing  which  Nature  itself  would 
demand. 

But  all  the  same  there  was  a  fascination  about  her,  as 
about  a  fairy  maiden.  There  was  a  yellow  shimmer  about 
her  light  hair;  azure  flames  flashed  from  her  blue  eyes. 
These  flames  drew  a  magic  circle  about  her,  and  the  dozen 
young  men  who  had  strayed  inside  the  circle  flocked  round 
her  aunt  the  evening  in  the  week  that  the  family  were  "  at 
home  "  and  sat  there,  vying  with  each  other  for  a  glance 
from  those  wondrous  eyes,  hating  each  other  with  all  their 
hearts,  and  suffering  from  the  ridiculousness  of  yet  meeting 
like  brothers,  week  after  week,  as  guests  in  the  same  house. 
The  young  girl's  male  relatives,  who  had  outgrown  their 
enthusiasm  for  her,  declared  that  her  character  was  not  good 
and  reliable — poor  child !  had  she  to  be  all  that,  too?  Others 
who  did  not  ask  so  much  were  content  to  enjoy  the  sound  of 
her  voice. 

She  was  not  a  Copenhagen  girl,  only  spent  a  few  Win- 
ters in  the  town,  then  disappeared  again. 


EARLY   MANHOOD  183 

Some  years  after,  it  was  rumoured,  to  everybody's  as- 
tonishment, that  she  had  married  a  widower  in  a  provincial 
town — she  who  belonged  to  the  realms  of  Poesy ! 

7'hen  there  was  another  young  girl,  nineteen.  Whereas 
the  fairy  maiden  did  not  put  herself  out  to  pretend  she 
troubled  her  head  about  the  young  men  whom  she  fascinated 
with  the  rhythm  of  her  movements  or  the  radiation  of  her 
loveliness,  was  rather  inclined  to  be  short  in  her  manner,  a 
little  staccato  in  her  observations,  too  accustomed  to  admi- 
ration to  attract  worshippers  to  herself  by  courting  them,  too 
undeveloped  and  impersonal  to  consciously  assert  herself — 
this  other  girl  was  of  quite  another  sort.  She  had  no  innate 
irresistibility,  but  was  a  shrewd  and  adaptable  human  girl. 
Her  face  did  not  attract  by  its  beauty,  though  she  was  very 
much  more  beautiful  than  ugly,  with  a  delicately  hooked 
nose,  a  mouth  full  of  promise,  an  expression  of  thoughtful- 
ness  and  determination.  When  she  appeared  at  a  ball,  men's 
eyes  lingered  on  her  neck,  and  even  more  on  her  white  back, 
with  Its  firm,  smooth  skin,  and  fine  play  of  the  muscles;  for  If 
she  did  not  allow  very  much  of  her  young  bust  to  be  seen, 
her  dress  at  the  back  was  cut  down  nearly  to  her  belt.  Her 
voice  was  a  deep  contralto,  and  she  knew  how  to  assume 
an  expression  of  profound  gravity  and  reflection.  But  she 
captivated  most  by  her  attentlveness.  When  a  young  man 
whom  she  wished  to  attract  commenced  a  conversation  with 
her,  she  never  took  her  eyes  from  his,  or  rather  she  gazed  Into 
his,  and  showed  such  a  rapt  attention  to  his  words,  suc5  an 
Interest  In  his  thoughts  and  his  occupations,  that  after  meet- 
ing her  once  he  never  forgot  her  again.  Her  coquetry  did 
not  consist  of  languishing  glances,  but  of  a  pretended  sym- 
pathy, that  flattered  and  delighted  Its  object. 

IV. 

These  Danish  girls  were  likely  to  appeal  to  a  young 
man  just  returned  from  travels  abroad,  during  which  his 
emotions  had  been  doubly  stirred,  for  the  first  time,  by  fem- 
inine affection  and  by  enthusiasm  for  a  woman.  They  influ- 
enced me  the  more  strongly  because  they  were  Danish,  and 


i84  REMINISCENCES 

because  I,  who  loved  everything  Danish,  from  the  language 
to  the  monuments,  had,  since  the  war,  felt  something  lacking 
in  everyone,  man  or  woman,  who  was  foreign  to  Denmark. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  these  visitations  of  calf-love,  and 
their  vibrations  among  undefined  sensations,  I  was  pulled 
back  with  a  jerk,  as  it  were,  to  my  earlier  and  deepest  impres- 
sion, that  of  the  loveliness  and  exalted  person  of  the  young 
Spaniard.  Letters  from  Paris  furrowed  my  mind  like  steam- 
ers the  waters  of  a  lake,  made  it  foam,  and  the  waves  run 
high,  left  long  streaks  across  its  wake.  Not  that  Mile.  Ma- 
thilde  sent  letters  to  me  herself,  but  her  Italian  lady  and 
gentlemen  friends  wrote  for  her,  apparently  in  her  name, 
loudly  lamenting  my  unreasonable  departure,  wishing  and 
demanding  my  return,  telling  me  how  she  missed  me,  some- 
times how  angry  she  was. 

I  was  too  poor  to  be  able  to  return  at  once.  I  did  what 
I  could  to  procure  money,  wrote  to  those  of  my  friends  whom 
I  thought  could  best  afford  it  and  on  whom  I  relied  most, 
but  met  with  refusals,  which  made  me  think  of  the  messages 
Timon  of  Athens  received  in  response  to  similar  requests. 
Then  I  staked  in  the  lottery  and  did  not  win. 

Urged  from  France  to  return,  and  under  the  high  pres- 
sure of  my  own  romantic  imagination,  it  seemed  clear  to  me 
all  at  once  that  I  ought  to  unite  my  lot  for  good  to  that  of 
this  rare  and  beautiful  woman,  whom,  it  is  true,  I  had  never 
spoken  to  one  minute  alone,  who,  moreover,  had  scarcely 
anything  in  common  with  me,  but  who,  just  by  the  dissimi- 
larity of  her  having  been  born  of  Spanish  parents  in  Rio, 
and  I  of  a  Danish  father  and  mother  in  Copenhagen,  seemed 
destined  by  Fate  for  me,  as  I  for  her.  The  Palm  and  the 
Fir-tree  had  dreamed  of  one  another,  and  could  never  meet; 
but  men  and  women  could,  however  far  apart  they  might 
have  been  born.  In  the  middle  of  the  Summer  of  1867  I  was 
as  though  possessed  by  the  thought  that  she  and  I  ought  to  be 
united. 

The  simplest  objection  of  all,  namely,  that  I,  who  was 
scarcely  able  to  support  myself,  could  not  possiblv  support  a 
wife,  seemed  to  me  altogether  subordinate.  My  motives 
were  purely  chivalric;  I  could  not  leave  her  in  the  lurch,  as 


EARLY   MANHOOD  185 

the  miserable  hero  of  Andersen's  Only  a  Player  did  Noomi. 
And  a  vision  of  her  compelling  loveliness  hovered  before  my 
eyes. 

The  whole  of  the  month  of  July  and  part  of  the  month 
of  August  I  was  on  the  rack,  now  passionately  desiring  a  suc- 
cessful Issue  of  my  plans,  now  hoping  just  as  ardently  that 
they  would  be  stranded  through  the  opposition  of  the  foreign 
family;  for  I  was  compelled  to  admit  to  myself  that  the  beau- 
tiful Spaniard  would  be  very  unsulted  to  Copenhagen,  would 
freeze  there,  mentally  as  well  as  literally.  And  I  said  to 
myself  every  day  that  supposing  the  war  expected  In  Den- 
mark were  to  break  out  again,  and  the  young  men  were  sum- 
moned to  arms,  the  most  insignificant  little  Danish  girl  would 
make  me  a  better  Valkyrie;  all  my  feelings  would  be  foreign 
to  her,  and  possibly  she  would  not  even  be  able  to  learn  Dan- 
ish. Any  other  woman  would  understand  more  of  my  mind 
than  she.     And  yet!     Yet  she  was  the  only  one  for  me. 

Thus  I  was  swayed  by  opposing  wishes  the  whole  of  the 
long  time  during  which  the  matter  was  pending  and  uncer- 
tain. I  was  so  exhausted  by  suspense  that  I  only  kept  up  by 
taking  cold  baths  twice  a  day  and  by  brisk  rides.  The  mere 
sight  of  a  postman  made  my  heart  beat  fast.  The  scorn 
heaped  upon  me  In  the  Danish  newspapers  had  a  curious 
effect  upon  me  under  these  circumstances;  It  seemed  to  me 
to  be  strangely  far  away,  like  blows  at  a  person  who  Is  some- 
where else. 

I  pondered  all  day  on  the  painful  dilemma  in  which  I 
was  placed;  I  dreamt  of  my  Dulclnca  every  night,  and  began 
to  look  as  exhausted  as  I  felt.  One  day  that  I  went  to  Fre- 
densborg,  in  response  to  an  invitation  from  Frederik  Paludan- 
Miiller,  the  poet  said  to  me:  "  Have  you  been  ill  lately? 
You  look  so  pale  and  shaken."  I  pretended  not  to  care; 
whatever  I  said  or  did  In  company  was  incessant  acting. 

I  experienced  revulsions  of  feeling  similar  to  those  that 
troubled  Don  Quixote.  Now  I  saw  in  my  distant  Spanish 
maiden  the  epitome  of  perfection,  now  the  picture  melted 
away  altogether;  even  my  affection  for  her  then  seemed  small, 
artificial,  Whimsical,  half-forgotten.  And  then  again  she 
represented  supreme  happiness. 


i86  REMINISCENCES 

When  the  decision  came,  when, — as  everyone  with  the 
least  experience  of  the  world  could  have  foretold, — all  the 
beautiful  dreams  and  audacious  plans  collapsed  suddenly,  I 
felt  as  though  this  long  crisis  had  thrown  me  back  Indescrib- 
ably; my  intellectual  development  had  been  at  a  standstill 
for  months.  It  was  such  a  feeling  as  when  the  death  of 
some  loved  person  puts  an  end  to  the  long,  tormenting  anx- 
iety of  the  foregoing  Illness.  I,  who  had  centred  everything 
round  one  thought,  must  now  start  joylessly  along  new  paths. 
My  outburst, — which  astonished  myself, — was: 

"  How  I  wanted  a  heart!  " 

V. 

I  could  not  at  once  feel  it  a  relief  that  my  fancies  had 
all  been  dissipated  into  thin  air.  Physically  I  was  much 
broken  down,  but,  with  my  natural  elasticity,  quickly  recov- 
ered. Yet  in  my  relations  towards  the  other  sex  I  was  torn 
as  I  had  never  been  before.  My  soul,  or  more  exactly,  that 
part  of  my  psychical  life  bordering  on  the  other  sex,  was  like 
a  deep,  unploughed  field,  waiting  for  seed. 

It  was  not  much  more  than  a  month  before  the  field  was 
sown.  Amongst  my  Danish  acquaintances  there  was  only 
one,  a  young  and  very  beautiful  widow,  upon  whom,  placed 
as  I  was  with  regard  to  Mile.  Mathllde,  I  had  definitely 
counted.  I  should  have  taken  the  young  Spaniard  to  her; 
she  alone  would  have  understood  her — they  would  have  been 
friends. 

There  had  for  a  long  time  been  warm  feelings  of  sym- 
pathy between  her  and  me.  It  so  chanced  that  she  drew 
much  closer  to  me  immediately  after  the  decisive  word  had 
been  spoken.  She  became,  consequently,  the  only  one  to 
whom  I  touched  upon  the  wild  fancies  to  which  I  had  given 
myself  up,  and  confided  the  dreams  with  which  I  had  wasted 
my  time.  She  listened  to  me  sympathetically,  no  little  amazed 
at  my  being  so  devoid  of  practical  common  sense.  She  stood 
with  both  feet  on  the  earth;  but  she  had  one  capacity  that  I 
had  not  met  with  before  in  anv  young  woman — the  capacity 
for  enthusiasm.     She  had  dark  eyes,  with  something  melan- 


EARLY   MANHOOD  187 

choly  in  their  dcptlis;  but  when  she  spoke  of  anything  that 
roused  her  enthusiasm,  her  eyes  shone  hke  stars. 

She  pointed  out  how  preposterous  it  was  in  me  to  wish  to 
seek  so  far  away  a  happiness  that  perhaps  was  very  close  to 
me,  and  how  even  more  preposterous  to  neglect,  as  1  had 
done,  my  studies  and  intellectual  aims  for  a  fantastic  love. 
And  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  a  young  woman  spoke  to  me 
of  my  abilities  and  of  the  impression  she  had  received  of 
them,  partly  through  the  reading  of  the  trifles  that  I  had  had 
printed,  partly,  and  more  particularly,  through  her  long  talks 
with  me.  Neither  the  little  French  girl  nor  the  young  Span- 
ish lady  had  ever  spoken  to  me  of  myself,  my  talents,  or  my 
future;  this  Danish  woman  declared  that  she  knew  me 
through  and  through.  And  the  new  thing  about  it  all,  the 
thing  hitherto  unparalleled  in  my  experience,  was  that  she 
believed  in  me.  More  than  that:  she  had  the  highest  pos- 
sible conception  of  my  abilities,  asserted  in  contradiction  to 
my  own  opinion,  that  I  was  already  a  man  of  unusual  mark, 
and  was  ardently  ambitious  for  me. 

Just  at  this  moment,  when  so  profoundly  disheartened, 
and  when  in  idle  hopes  and  plans  I  had  lost  sight  of  my  higher 
goal,  by  her  firm,  belief  In  me  she  Imparted  to  me  augmented 
self-respect.  Her  confidence  in  me  gave  me  increasing  con- 
fidence in  myself,  and  a  vehement  gratitude  awoke  in  me  for 
the  good  she  thus  did  me. 

Then  It  happened  that  one  day,  without  preamble,  she 
admitted  that  the  Interest  she  felt  in  me  was  not  merely  an 
intellectual  one;  things  had  now  gone  so  far  that  she  could 
think  of  nothing  but  me. 

My  whole  nature  was  shaken  to  its  foundations.  Up  to 
this  time  I  had  only  regarded  her  as  my  friend  and  comforter, 
had  neither  felt  nor  fought  against  any  personal  attraction. 
But  she  had  scarcely  spoken,  before  she  was  transformed  in 
my  eyes.  The  affection  I  had  thirsted  for  was  offered  to  me 
here.  The  heart  I  had  felt  the  need  of  was  this  heart.  And 
It  was  not  only  a  heart  that  was  offered  me,  but  a  passion 
that  scorned  scruples. 

In  my  austere  youth  hitherto,  T  had  not  really  had 
any  erotic  experiences  whatever.     I  had  led  the  chaste  life 


i88  REMINISCENCES 

of  the  intellectual  worker.  My  thoughts  had  been  the 
thoughts  of  a  man;  they  had  ascended  high  and  had  delved 
deep,  but  my  love  affairs  had  been  the  enthusiasms  and  fan- 
cies of  a  half-grown  boy,  chimeras  and  dreams.  This  young 
woman  was  my  first  living  erotic  reality. 

And  suddenly,  floodgates  seemed  to  open  within  me. 
Streams  of  lava,  streams  of  molten  fire,  rushed  out  over  my 
soul.     I  loved  for  the  first  time  like  a  man. 

The  next  few  days  I  went  about  as  if  lifted  above  the 
earth;  in  the  theatre,  in  the  evening,  I  could  not  follow  the 
performance,  but  sat  in  the  pit  with  my  face  in  my  hands,  full 
of  my  new  destiny,  as  though  my  heart  would  burst. 

And  yet  it  was  more  a  physical  state,  an  almost  mechan- 
ical outcome  of  what  to  me  was  overwhelmingly  new,  asso- 
ciation with  a  woman.  It  was  not  because  it  was  just  this 
particular  woman.  For  my  emotional  nature  was  so  com- 
posite that  even  in  the  first  moment  of  my  bliss  I  did  not  re- 
gard this  bliss  as  unmixed.  From  the  very  first  hour,  I  felt 
a  gnawing  regret  that  it  was  not  I  who  had  desired  her,  but 
she  who  had  chosen  me,  so  that  my  love  in  my  heart  of  hearts 
was  only  a  reflection  of  hers. 

VI. 

About  this  time  it  so  happened  that  another  woman  be- 
gan to  engage  my  thoughts,  but  in  an  altogether  different 
manner.  Circumstances  resulted  in  my  being  taken  into  the 
secret  of  unhappy  and  disturbing  domestic  relations  in  a  well- 
to-do  house  to  which  I  was  frequently  invited,  and  where  to 
all  outward  seeming  all  the  necessary  conditions  of  domestic 
happiness  were  present. 

The  master  of  the  house  had  In  his  younger  days  been  a 
very  handsome  man,  lazy,  not  clever,  and  of  an  exceedingly 
passionate  temper.  He  was  the  son  of  a  man  rich,  worthy 
and  able,  but  of  a  very  weak  character,  and  of  a  kept  woman 
who  had  been  the  mistress  of  a  roval  personage.  Through 
no  fault  of  his  own,  he  had  inherited  his  mother's  professional 
vices,  persistent  untruthfulness,  a  comedian's  manner,  prodi- 
gality, a  love  of  finery  and  display.     He  was  quite  without  in- 


EARLY   MANHOOD  189 

tellectual  Interests,  but  had  a  distinguished  bearing,  a  win- 
ning manner,  and  no  gross  vices. 

His  wife,  who,  for  family  reasons,  had  been  married  to 
him  much  too  young,  had  never  loved  him,  and  never  been 
suited  to  him.  As  an  innocent,  ignorant  girl,  she  had  been 
placed  in  the  arms  of  a  man  who  w-as  much  the  worse  for  a 
reckless  life,  and  suffering  from  an  illness  that  necessitated 
nursing,  and  made  him  repulsive  to  her.  Every  day  that 
passed  she  suffered  more  from  being  bound  to  a  man  whose 
slightest  movement  was  objectionable  to  her  and  whose  every 
remark  a  torture.  In  the  second  decade  of  her  marriage 
the  keenest  marital  repulsion  had  developed  in  her;  this  was 
so  strong  that  she  sometimes  had  to  pull  herself  together  in 
order,  despite  her  maternal  feelings,  not  to  transfer  her  dis- 
like to  the  children,  who  were  likewise  his,  and  In  whom  she 
dreaded  to  encounter  his  characteristics. 

Towards  her,  the  man  w^as  despotic  and  cunning,  but  not 
unkind,  and  in  so  far  excusable  that,  let  him  have  done  what 
he  might,  she  could  not  have  got  rid  of  the  hatred  that 
plagued  him  and  consumed  her.  So  dissimilar  were  their 
two  natures. 

Her  whole  aim  and  aspiration  was  to  get  the  bond  that 
united  them  dissolved.  But  this  he  would  not  hear  of,  for 
many  reasons,  and  more  especially  from  dislike  of  scandal. 
He  regarded  himself,  and  according  to  the  usual  conception 
of  the  words,  justly  so,  as  a  good  husband  and  father.  He 
asked  for  no  impossible  sacrifice  from  his  wife,  and  he  was 
affectionate  to  his  children.  He  could  not  help  her  de- 
testing him,  and  indeed,  did  not  fully  realise  that  she  did. 
And  yet,  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  misunderstand.  For  his 
wife  scarcely  restrained  her  aversion  even  when  there  were 
guests  in  the  house.  If  he  told  an  untruth,  she  kept  silence 
with  her  lips,  but  scarcely  with  her  expression.  And  she 
w^ould  sometimes  talk  of  the  faults  and  vices  that  she  most 
abhorred,  and  then  name  his. 

The  incessant  agitation  in  which  she  lived  had  made  her 
nerv^ous  and  restless  to  excess.  As  the  feminine  craving  to 
be  able,  in  marriage,  to  look  up  to  the  man,  had  never  been 
satisfied,  she  only  exacted  the  more  vehemently  veracity,  firm- 


190  REMINISCENCES 

ness  and  intellect  in  men.  But  undeveloped  as  she  was,  and 
in  despair  over  the  dissatisfaction,  the  drowsiness,  and  the 
darkness  in  which  her  days  glided  away,  whatever  invaded 
the  stagnation  and  lighted  up  the  darkness:  sparkle,  liveli- 
ness, brilliance  and  wit,  were  estimated  by  her  more  highly 
than  they  deserved  to  be. 

At  first  when,  in  the  desolation  of  her  life,  she  made  ad- 
vances to  me,  this  repelled  me  somewhat.  The  equestrian 
performer  in  Heiberg's  Madame  Voltisubito  cannot  sing  un- 
less she  hears  the  crack  of  a  whip.  Thus  it  seemed  to  me  that 
her  nature  could  not  sing,  save  to  the  accompaniment  of  all 
the  cart,  carriage  and  riding  whips  of  the  mind.  But  I  saw 
how  unhappy  she  was,  and  that  the  intense  strain  of  her  man- 
ner was  only  an  expression  of  it. 

She  could  not  know  the  beauty  of  inward  peace,  and  In 
spite  of  her  Protestant  upbringing  she  had  retained  all  the 
unaffectedness  and  sincerity  of  the  natural  human  being,  all 
the  obstinate  love  of  freedom,  unmoved  in  the  least  by  what 
men  call  discipline,  ethics,  Christianity,  convention.  She  did 
not  believe  in  it  all,  she  had  seen  what  it  resulted  in,  and 
what  it  covered  up,  and  she  passed  her  life  in  unmitigated  de- 
spair, which  was  ordinarily  calm  to  all  appearance,  but  in 
reality  rebellious :  what  she  was  enduring  was  the  attempted 
murder  of  her  soul. 

To  all  that  she  suffered  purely  mentally  from  her  life 
with  her  husband  in  the  home  that  was  no  home  at  all,  there 
had  of  late  been  added  circumstances  which  likewise  from  a 
practical  point  of  view  made  interference  and  alteration  nec- 
essar\^  Her  lord  and  master  had  always  been  a  bad  man- 
ager, in  fact  worse  than  that;  in  important  matters,  thor- 
oughly incapable  and  fatuous.  That  had  not  mattered  much 
hitherto,  since  others  had  looked  after  his  affairs;  but  now 
the  control  of  them  had  fallen  entirely  into  his  own  hands, 
and  he  managed  them  in  such  a  way  that  expenses  increased 
at  a  terrific  rate,  while  his  income  diminished  w^ith  equal  rap- 
idity, and  the  question  of  total  ruin  only  seemed  a  matter  of 
time. 

His  wnfe  had  no  outside  support.  She  was  an  orphan 
and  friendless.     Her  husband's  relations  did  not  like  her  and 


EARLY   MANHOOD  191 

did  not  understand  her.  And  yet  just  at  this  time  she  re- 
quired as  a  friend  a  man  who  understood  her  and  could  help 
her  to  save  her  own  and  the  children's  fortunes  from  the  ship- 
wreck, before  it  was  too  late.  She  felt  great  confidence  in  me, 
whom  she  had  met,  at  intervals,  from  my  boyhood,  and  she 
now  opened  her  heart  to  me  in  conversation  more  and  more. 
She  confided  in  me  fully,  gave  me  a  complete  insight  into  the 
torture  of  her  life,  and  implored  me  to  help  her  to  acquire 
her  freedom. 

Thus  it  was  that  while  still  quite  a  young  man  a  power- 
ful, never-to-be-effaced  impression  of  the  miseries  of  modern 
coercive  marriage  was  produced  upon  me.  The  impression 
was  not  merely  powerful,  but  It  waked,  like  a  cry  of  dis- 
tress, both  my  thinking  powers  and  my  energy.  As  through 
a  chink  in  the  smooth  surface  of  society,  I  looked  down 
Into  the  depths  of  horror.  Behind  the  unhappiness  of  one, 
I  suspected  that  of  a  hundred  thousand,  knew  that  of  a 
hundred  thousand.  And  I  felt  myself  vehemently  called 
upon,  not  only  to  name  the  horror  by  its  name,  but  to  step 
In,  as  far  as  1  was  able,  and  prevent  the  thing  spreading 
unheeded. 

Scales  had  fallen  from  my  eyes.  Under  the  semblance 
of  affection  and  peace,  couples  were  lacerating  one  another 
by  the  thousand,  swallowed  up  by  hatred  and  mutual  aver- 
sion. The  glitter  of  happiness  among  those  higher  placed 
dazzled  the  thoughtless  and  the  credulous.  He  who  had 
eyes  to  see,  observed  how  the  wretchedness  due  to  the  ar- 
rangement of  society,  wound  itself  right  up  to  its  pinnacles. 

The  vices  and  paltrinesses  of  the  Individual  could  not  be 
'directly  remedied;  Inherited  maladies  and  those  brought  upon 
one's  self,  stupidity  and  folly,  brutality  and  malice,  unde- 
niably existed.  But  the  Institutions  of  society  ought  to  be  so 
planned  as  to  render  these  destructive  forces  inoperative,  or 
at  least  diminish  their  harmfulness,  not  so  as  to  give  them 
free  scope  and  augment  their  terrors  by  securing  them 
victims. 

In  marriage,  the  position  of  the  one  bound  against  his  or 
her  will  was  undignified,  often  desperate,  but  worst  In  the 
case  of  a  woman.     As  a  mother  she  could  be  wounded  in  her 


192  REMINISCENCES 

most  vulnerable  spot,  and  what  was  most  outrageous  of  all, 
she  could  be  made  a  mother  against  her  will.  One  single  un- 
happy marriage  had  shown  me,  like  a  sudden  revelation,  what 
marriage  in  countless  cases  is,  and  how  far  from  free  the  po- 
sition of  woman  still  was. 

But  that  woman  should  be  oppressed  in  modern  society, 
that  the  one-half  of  the  human  race  could  be  legally  deprived 
of  their  rights,  revealed  that  justice  in  society,  as  it  at  pres- 
ent stood,  was  in  a  sorry  state.  In  the  relations  between  the 
strong  and  the  weak,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  same  legalised 
disproportion  would  necessarily  prevail  as  between  man  and 
woman. 

My  thought  pierced  down  into  the  state  of  society  that 
obtained  and  was  praised  so  highly,  and  with  ever  less  sur- 
prise and  ever  greater  disquiet,  found  hollowness  everywhere. 
And  this  called  my  will  to  battle,  armed  it  for  the  fight. 

VII. 

From  this  time  forth  I  began  to  ponder  quite  as  much 
over  Life  as  over  Art,  and  to  submit  to  criticism  the  condi- 
tions of  existence  in  the  same  way  as  I  had  formerly  done  with 
Faith  and  Law. 

In  matters  concerning  Life,  as  in  things  concerning  Art, 
I  was  not  a  predetermined  Radical.  There  was  a  great  deal 
of  piety  in  my  nature  and  I  was  of  a  collecting,  retentive  dis- 
position. Only  gradually,  and  step  by  step,  was  I  led  by  my 
impressions,  the  incidents  I  encountered,  and  my  develop- 
ment, to  break  with  many  a  tradition  to  v*'hich  I  had  clung 
to  the  last  extremity. 

It  was  in  the  spirit  of  the  ^^isthetics  of  the  time,  that, 
after  having  been  engaged  upon  the  Tragic  Idea,  I  plunged 
into  researches  on  the  Comic,  and  by  degrees,  as  the  material 
ordered  itself  for  me,  I  tried  to  write  a  doctor's  thesis  upon  it. 
Abstract  researches  were  regarded  as  much  more  valuable 
than  historic  investigation.  In  comic  literature  Aristophanes 
in  particular  delighted  me,  and  I  was  thinking  of  letting  my 
general  definitions  merge  into  a  description  of  the  greatness 
of  the  Greek  comedian;  but  as  the  thread  broke  for  me,  I 


EARLY   MANHOOD  193 

did  not  get  farther  than  the  theory  of  the  Comic  in  general. 
It  was  not,  like  my  previous  treatise  on  the  Tragic,  treated 
under  three  headings,  according  to  the  Hegelian  model,  but 
written  straight  ahead,  without  any  subdivision  into  sections. 

Whilst  working  at  this  paper  I  was,  of  course,  obliged 
constantly  to  consult  the  national  comedies  and  lighter  plays, 
till  I  knew  them  from  cover  to  cover.  Consequently,  when 
Gotfred  Rode,  the  poet,  who  was  connected  with  a  well- 
known  educational  establishment  for  girls,  asked  me  whether 
I  would  care  to  give  a  course  of  public  lectures  for  ladies,  I 
chose  as  my  subject  The  Danish  Comedy.  The  lectures  were 
attended  in  force.  The  subject  was  supremely  Innocent,  and 
It  was  treated  In  quite  a  conservative  manner.  At  that  time 
I  cherished  a  sincere  admiration,  with  only  slight  reserva- 
tions, for  Helberg,  Hertz,  Hostrup  and  many  others  as 
comic  playwriters,  and  w^as  not  far  short  of  attributing  to 
their  works  an  Importance  equal  to  those  of  Holberg.  And 
yet  I  was  unable  to  avoid  giving  offence.  I  had,  it  appears, 
about  Helberg's  Klister  and  Malic,  an  inseparable  betrothed 
couple,  used  what  was,  for  that  matter,  an  undoubtedly 
Klerkegaardian  expression,  viz.,  to  beslobber  a  relation.  This 
expression  was  repeated  indignantly  to  the  Headmistress,  and 
the  thoughtless  lecturer  was  requested  to  call  upon  the  Princi- 
pal of  the  college.  When,  after  a  long  wait,  and  little  sus- 
pecting what  was  going  to  be  said  to  me,  I  was  received  in 
audience.  It  appeared  that  I  had  been  summoned  to  receive 
a  polite  but  decided  admonition  against  wounding  the  sus- 
ceptibilities of  my  listeners  by  expressions  which  were  not 
"  good  form,"  and  when  I,  unconscious  of  wrongdoing, 
asked  which  expression  she  alluded  to,  the  unfortunate  word 
"beslobber"  was  alleged;  my  young  hearers  were  not 
"  'Arrlets  "  for  whom  such  expressions  might  be  fitting. 

I  was  not  asked  again  to  give  lectures  for  young  ladles. 

VIII. 

Hitherto,  when  I  had  appeared  before  the  reading  pub- 
lic, it  had  only  been  as  the  author  of  shorter  or  longer  contri- 
butions to  the  philosophical  discussion  of  the  relations  between 


194  REMINISCENCES 

Science  and  Faith ;  when  these  had  been  accepted  by  a  daily- 
paper  it  had  been  as  its  heaviest  ballast.  I  had  never  yet 
written  anything  that  the  ordinary  reader  could  follow  with 
pleasure,  and  I  had  likewise  been  obliged  to  make  use  of  a 
large  number  of  abstruse  philosophical  words. 

The  proprietors  of  the  Illustrated  Times  offered  me  the 
reviewing  of  the  performances  at  the  Royal  Theatre  in  their 
paper,  which  had  not  hitherto  printed  dramatic  criticisms.  I 
accepted  the  offer,  because  it  afforded  me  a  wished-for  oppor- 
tunity of  further  shaking  off  the  dust  of  the  schools.  I 
could  thus  have  practice  with  my  pen,  and  get  into  touch 
with  a  section  of  the  reading  public  who,  without  caring  for 
philosophy,  nevertheless  had  intellectual  interests;  and  these 
articles  were  in  reality  a  vent  for  what  I  had  at  heart  about 
this  time  touching  matters  human  and  artistic.  They  were 
written  in  a  more  colloquial  style  than  anything  I  had  writ- 
ten before,  or  than  it  was  usual  to  write  in  Denmark  at  that 
time,  and  they  alternated  sometimes  with  longer  essays,  such 
as  those  on  Andersen  and  Goldschmidt. 

Regarded  merely  as  dramatic  criticisms,  they  were  of 
little  value.  The  Royal  Theatre,  the  period  of  whose  zenith 
was  nearly  at  an  end,  I  cared  little  for,  and  I  was  person- 
ally acquainted  with  next  to  none  of  the  actors,  only  meeting, 
at  most,  Phister  and  Adolf  Rosenkilde  and  of  ladies,  Sodring 
in  society. 

I  found  it  altogether  impossible  to  brandish  my  cane 
over  the  individual  actor  in  his  individual  part.  But  the  form 
of  it  was  merely  a  pretext.  I  wanted  to  show  myself  as  I  was, 
speak  out  about  dramatic  and  other  literature,  reveal  how  1 
felt,  show  what  I  thought  about  all  the  conditions  of  life  re- 
presented or  touched  upon  on  the  stage. 

My  articles  were  read  with  so  much  interest  that  the 
editors  of  the  Illustrated  Times  raised  the  writer's  scale  of  re- 
muneration to  lo  Kr.  a  column  (about  \is.  3^.),  which  at 
that  time  was  very  respectable  pay.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, I  soon  saw  that  even  at  that,  if  I  wrote  in  the  paper  all 
the  year  round,  I  could  not  bring  up  my  yearly  income  from 
this  source  to  more  than  320  kroner  of  our  money,  about 
17/.  125.  6d.  In  English  money;  so  that,  without  a  University 


EARLY   MANHOOD  195 

bursary,  I  should  have  come  badly  off,  and  even  with  It  was 
not  rolling  in  riches. 

The  first  collection  of  my  articles,  which  I  published  in 
1868  under  the  title  of  Studies  in  /Esthetics,  augmented  my  in- 
come a  little,  it  is  true,  but  for  that,  as  for  the  next  collection, 
Criticisms  and  Portraits,  I  only  received  20  kroner  (225.  6d.) 
per  sheet  of  sixteen  pages.  Very  careful  management  was 
necessary. 

IX. 

With  the  first  money  I  received  for  my  books,  I  went 
in  the  middle  of  the  Summer  of  1868  for  a  trip  to  Germany. 
I  acquired  some  Idea  of  Berlin,  which  was  then  still  only  the 
capital  of  Prussia,  and  in  population  corresponded  to  the  Co- 
penhagen of  our  day;  I  spent  a  few  weeks  in  Dresden, 
where  I  felt  very  much  at  home,  delighted  in  the  exquisite 
art  collection  and  derived  no  small  pleasure  from  the  theatre, 
at  that  time  an  excellent  one.  I  saw  Prague  for  the  first 
time,  worshipped  Rubens  in  Munich,  and,  with  him  specially 
m  my  mind,  tried  to  realise  how  the  greatest  painters  had 
regarded  Life,  Switzerland  added  to  my  store  of  impres- 
sions with  grand  natural  spectacles.  I  saw  the  Alps,  and  a 
thunderstorm  in  the  Alps,  passed  starlit  nights  on  the  Swiss 
lakes,  traced  the  courses  of  foaming  mountain  streams  such 
as  the  Tamina  at  Pfiiffers,  ascended  the  RIgl  at  a  silly  forced 
march,  and  from  the  Kulm  saw  a  procession  of  clouds  that 
gripped  my  fancy  like  the  procession  of  the  Vanir  In  Northern 
mythology.  Many  years  afterwards  I  described  it  in  the 
Fourth  volume  of  Main  Currents.  From  Interlaken  I  gazed 
on  the  whiteness  of  the  Jungfrau,  but  scarcely  with  greater 
emotion  than  once  upon  a  time  when  I  had  gazed  at  the  white 
cliffs  of  Moen.  On  my  homeward  journey  I  saw  Heidel- 
berg's lovely  ruins,  to  which  Charles  V.'s  castle,  near  the  Al- 
hambra,  makes  a  marvellous  pendant,  Strassburg's  grave 
Cathedral,  and  Goethe's  house  at  Frankfurt. 

My  travels  were  not  long,  but  were  extraordinarily  in- 
structive. I  made  acquaintance  with  people  from  the  most 
widely  different  countries,  with  youthful  frankness  engaged 
in  conversation  with  Germans  and  Frenchmen,  Englishmen 


196  REMINISCENCES 

and  Americans,  Poles  and  Russians,  Dutchmen,  Belgians  and 
Swiss,  met  them  as  travelling  companions,  and  listened  atten- 
tively to  what  they  narrated.  They  were,  moreover,  mar- 
vellously frank  towards  the  young  man  who,  with  the  curiosity 
of  his  age,  plied  them  with  questions. 

Young  Dutchmen,  studying  music  in  Dresden,  gave  me 
some  idea  of  the  ill-will  felt  in  their  country  towards  the 
Prussians,  an  ill-will  not  unmingled  with  contempt.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  was  astonished,  during  a  half  day's  excursion 
on  foot  with  a  few  Leipzig  students,  to  learn  how  strong  was 
the  feeling  of  the  unity  of  Germany  and  of  the  necessity  of 
the  supremacy  of  Prussia,  even  in  the  states  which  in  the 
1866  war  had  been  on  the  side  of  Austria.  The  students 
felt  no  grief  over  having  been  defeated,  the  victors  were  Ger- 
mans too;  everything  was  all  right  so  long  as  the  German 
Empire  became  one.  These  and  similar  conversations,  which 
finally  brought  me  to  the  conclusion  that  the  whole  of  the 
bourgeoisie  was  satisfied  with  the  dominance  of  Prussia,  had 
for  result  that  in  1 870  I  did  not  for  a  moment  share  the  opin- 
ion of  the  Danes  and  the  French,  that  the  defeated  German 
states  would  enter  into  an  alliance  with  France  against 
Prussia. 

English  undergraduates  told  me  what  philosophical  and 
historical  works  were  being  most  read  in  the  universities  of 
Great  Britain;  Bohemian  students  explained  to  me  that  in  the 
German  philosophical  world  Kant  had  quite  outshone  Hegel 
and  put  him  in  the  background. 

The  lady  members  of  an  American  family  from  Boston 
treated  me  quite  maternally;  the  w^Ife  suggested  almost  at 
once,  in  the  railway-carriage,  that  I  should  give  her  when  we 
reached  the  hotel  whatever  linen  or  clothes  I  had  that  wanted 
repairs;  she  would  be  very  pleased  to  mend  them  for  me. 
The  husband,  who  was  very  pious  and  good-natured,  had  all 
his  pockets  full  of  little  hymn-books  and  in  his  memorandum 
book  a  quantity  of  newspaper  cuttings  of  devotional  verse, 
which  he  now  and  then  read  aloud  enthusiastically. 

But  I  also  met  with  Americans  of  quite  a  different  cast. 
A  young  student  from  Harvard  University,  who,  for  that 
matter,  was  not  In  love  with  the  Germans  and  declared  that 


EARLY   MANHOOD  197 

the  United  States  could  with  difficulty  absorb  and  digest  those 
who  were  settled  there,  surprised  me  with  his  view  that  in 
the  future  Bismarck  would  come  to  be  regarded  as  no  less 
a  figure  than  Cavour.  The  admiration  of  contemporary  edu- 
cated thought  was  then  centred  around  Cavour,  whereas  Bis- 
marck had  hitherto  only  encountered  passionate  aversion  out- 
side Germany,  and  even  in  Germany  was  the  object  of  much 
hatred.  This  student  roused  me  into  thinking  about  Bis- 
marck for  myself. 

Having  lain  down,  all  bathed  in  perspiration,  during  the 
ascent  without  a  guide  of  a  mountain  in  Switzerland,  I  was 
accosted  by  a  w^oman,  who  feared  I  had  come  to  some  harm. 
I  walked  on  up  with  her.  She  turned  out  to  be  a  young 
peasant  woman  from  Normandy,  who  lived  half-way  up  the 
mountain.  She  had  accompanied  her  husband  to  Switzer- 
land, but  cursed  her  lot,  and  was  always  longing  to  be  back 
in  France.  When  I  remarked  that  it  must  be  some  consola- 
tion to  live  in  so  lovely  a  place,  she  interrupted  me  with  the 
most  violent  protests.  A  beautiful  place!  This!  The 
steep  mountain,  the  bristly  fir-trees  and  pine-trees,  the 
snow  on  the  top  and  the  lake  deep  down  below — anything 
uglier  it  would  be  hard  to  conceive.  No  fields,  no  pasture- 
land,  no  apple-trees !  No  indeed!  If  she  had  to  mention  a 
country  that  really  was  beautiful,  it  was  Normandy.  There 
was  plenty  of  food  for  all  there,  you  did  not  need  to  go 
either  up  or  down  hill;  there,  thank  God,  it  was  flat.  Did 
I  think  stones  beautiful,  perhaps?  She  had  not  been  down 
in  the  valley  for  five  months,  and  higher  than  her  house  she 
had  never  been  and  would  never  go;  no,  thank  you,  not  she! 
She  let  her  husband  fetch  what  they  required  for  the  house; 
she  herself  sat  and  fretted  all  through  the  Winter;  life  then 
was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear. 

On  one  of  the  steamers  on  the  Lake  of  Lucerne,  I 
caught,  for  the  first  time,  a  glimpse  of  Berthold  Auerbach, 
who  was  Ytry  much  admired  by  my  comrades  in  Copenhagen 
and  by  myself. 

At  the  hotel  table  at  Lucerne  T  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  Dutch  captain  from  Batavia,  an  acquaintance  productive 
of  much  pleasure  to  me.     Before  the  soup  was  brought  round 


198  REMINISCENCES 

I  had  pulled  out  a  letter  I  had  just  received,  opened  it  and 
begun  to  read  it.    A  voice  by  my  side  said  in  French : 

"  Happy  man  I  You  are  reading  a  letter  in  a  woman's 
writing!  "     With  that  our  acquaintance  was  made. 

The  captain  was  a  man  of  forty,  who  in  the  course  of 
an  active  life  had  had  many  and  varied  experiences  and  met 
with  prosperity,  but  was  suffering  from  a  feeling  of 
great  void.  His  society  was  exceedingly  attractive  to  me,  and 
he  related  to  me  the  main  events  of  his  life;  but  after  one 
day's  association  only,  we  were  obliged  to  part.  All  through 
my  trip  I  had  a  curious  feeling  of  every  farewell  on  the 
journey  being  in  all  human  probability  a  farewell  for  life,  but 
had  not  realised  it  painfully  before.  But  when  next  day  the 
brave  captain,  whose  home  was  far  away  in  another  quarter 
of  the  globe,  held  his  hand  out  to  say  good-bye,  I  was  much 
affected.     "  Till  we  meet  again  "  said  the  captain. 

"And  where?" 

*'  Till  we  meet  again  all  and  everywhere,  for  we  live  an 
eternal  life;  till  we  meet  again  in  time  and  space,  or  outside 
time  and  space!  " 

I  reflected  sadly  that  I  should  never  again  see  this  man, 
who,  the  last  twenty-four  hours  had  shown  me,  was  in  extra- 
ordinary sympathy  and  agreement  with  me. 

Separated  from  those  dearest  to  me,  the  whole  of  the 
journey,  for  that  matter,  was  a  sort  of  self-torment  to  me, 
even  though  a  profitable  one.  Like  every  other  traveller,  I 
had  many  a  lonely  hour,  and  plenty  of  time  to  ponder  over 
my  position  and  vocation  in  life.  I  summed  up  my  impres- 
sions in  the  sentence :  "  The  Powers  have  designated  me  the 
champion  of  great  ideas  against  great  talents,  unfortunately 
greater  than  I." 

X. 

There  was  only  one  distinguished  person  outside  my 
circle  of  acquaintance  to  whom  I  wished  to  bring  my  first  de- 
scriptive book,  as  a  mark  of  homage,  Johanne  Louise  Hei- 
berg,  the  actress.  I  had  admired  her  on  the  stage,  even  if  not 
to  the  same  extent  as  Michael  Wiehe;  but  to  me  she  was  the 
representative  of  the  great  time  that  would  soon  sink  into  the 


EARLY  MANHOOD  199 

grave.  In  addition,  I  ventured  to  hope  that  she,  being  a 
friend  of  Frederik  Paludan-Miiller,  Magdalene  Thoresen 
and  others  who  wished  me  well,  would  be  at  any  rate  some- 
what friendly  inclined  towards  me.  A  few  years  before,  it 
had  been  rumoured  in  Copenhagen  after  the  publication  of 
my  little  polemical  pamphlet  against  Nielsen,  that  at  a  dinner 
at  the  Heiberg's  there  had  been  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  me; 
even  Bishop  Martensen  had  expressed  himself  favourably, 
and  it  also  attracted  attention  that  a  short  time  afterwards,  in 
a  note  to  his  book  On  Knowledge  and  Faith,  he  mentioned  me 
not  unapprovingly,  and  contented  himself  with  a  reminder  to 
me  not  to  feel  myself  too  soon  beyond  being  surprised.  When 
the  Bishop  of  Zealand,  one  of  the  actress's  most  faithful  ad- 
herents, had  publicly  spoken  thus  mildly  of  the  youthful  here- 
tic, there  was  some  hope  that  the  lady  herself  would  be  free 
from  prejudice.  My  friends  also  eagerly  encouraged  me  to 
venture  upon  a  visit  to  her  home. 

I  was  admitted  and  asked  to  wait  In  a  room  through  the 
glass  doors  of  which  I  was  attentively  observed  for  some  time 
by  the  lady's  adopted  children.  Then  she  came  In,  in  In- 
door dress,  with  a  stocking  in  her  hand,  at  which  she  unin- 
terruptedly continued  to  knit  during  the  following  conversa- 
tion :  She  said :  "  Well !  So  you  have  collected  your  articles." 
I  was  simple  enough  to  reply — as  If  that  made  any  difference 
to  the  lady — that  the  greater  part  of  the  book  had  not  been 
printed  before.  She  turned  the  conversation  upon  Bjornson's 
Fisher  Girl,  which  had  just  been  published,  and  which  had 
been  reviewed  by  The  Fatherland  the  evening  before,  declar- 
ing that  she  disagreed  altogether  with  the  reviewer,  who  had 
admired  In  the  Fisher  Girl  a  psychological  study  of  a  scenic 
genius.  "It  Is  altogether  a  mistake,"  said  Mrs.  Helberg,  ab- 
sorbed in  counting  her  stitches,  "  altogether  a  mistake  that 
genius  is  marked  by  restlessness,  refractoriness,  an  irregular 
life,  or  the  like.  That  is  all  antiquated  superstition.  True 
genius  has  no  connection  whatever  with  excesses  and  caprices, 
in  fact,  Is  impossible  without  the  strict  fulfilment  of  one's 
duty.  (Knitting  furiously.)  Genius  is  simple,  straightfor- 
ward, domesticated.  Industrious." 

When  wc  began  to  speak  of  mutual   acquaintances, 


200  REMINISCENCES 

amongst  others,  Magdalene  Thoresen,  feeling  very  uncom- 
fortable in  the  presence  of  the  lady,  I  blurted  out  most  tact- 
lessly that  I  was  sure  that  lady  was  much  interested  in  me. 
It  was  a  mere  nothing,  but  at  the  moment  sounded  like  con- 
ceit and  boasting.  I  realised  it  the  moment  the  words  were 
out  of  my  mouth,  and  mstinctively  felt  that  I  had  defin- 
itely displeased  her.  But  the  conversational  material  was 
used  up  and  I  withdrew.  I  never  saw  Johanne  Louise  Hei- 
berg  again;  henceforth  she  thought  anything  but  well  of  me. 

XI. 

Magdalene  Thoresen  was  spending  that  year  in  Copen- 
hagen, and  our  connection,  which  had  been  kept  up  by  corre- 
spondence, brought  with  it  a  lively  mutual  interchange  of 
thoughts  and  impressions.  Our  natures,  it  is  true,  were  as 
much  unlike  as  it  was  possible  for  them  to  be;  but  Magdalene 
Thoresen's  wealth  of  moods  and  the  overflowing  warmth  of 
her  heart,  the  vivacity  of  her  disposition,  the  tenderness  that 
filled  her  soul,  and  the  incessant  artistic  exertion,  which  her  ex- 
hausted body  could  not  stand,  all  this  roused  in  me  a  sym- 
pathy that  the  mistiness  of  her  reasoning,  and  the  over-excite- 
ment of  her  intellectual  life,  could  not  diminish.  Besides 
which,  especially  when  she  was  away  from  Copenhagen, 
but  when  she  was  there,  too,  she  needed  a  literary  assistant 
who  could  look  through  her  MSS.  and  negotiate  over  them 
with  the  publishers  of  anthologies,  year-books,  and  weekly 
papers,  and  for  this  purpose  she  not  infrequently  seized  upon 
me,  innocently  convinced,  like  everybody  else  for  that  mat- 
ter, that  she  was  the  only  person  who  made  a  similar  demand 
upon  me. 

Still,  it  was  rather  trying  that,  when  my  verdict  on  her 
work  did  not  happen  to  be  what  she  wished,  she  saw  in  what 
I  said  an  unkindness,  for  which  she  alleged  reasons  that  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  Art. 

Magdalene  Thoresen  could  not  be  otherwise  than  fond 
of  Rasmus  Nielsen;  they  were  both  lively,  easily  enraptured 
souls,  who  breathed  most  freely  in  the  fog.  That,  however, 
did  not  come  between  her  and  me,  whom  she  often  thought  in 


EARLY   MANHOOD  201 

the  ri<^ht.  With  rcganl  to  my  newspaper  activity,  slie  merely 
urged  the  stereotyped  but  pertinent  opinion,  that  [  ought  not 
to  write  so  many  small  things;  my  nature  could  not  stand  this 
wasting,  drop  by  drop. 

I  had  myself  felt  for  a  long  time  that  I  ought  to  con- 
centrate my  forces  on  larger  undertakings. 

XII. 

There  were  not  many  of  the  upper  middle  class  houses 
in  Copenhagen  at  that  time,  the  hospitality  of  which  a  young 
man  with  intellectual  interests  derived  any  advantage  from 
accepting.  One  of  these  houses,  which  was  opened  to  me, 
and  with  which  I  was  henceforward  associated,  was  that  of 
Chief  Physician  Rudolph  Bergh.  His  was  the  home  of  intel- 
lectual freedom. 

The  master  of  the  house  was  not  only  a  prominent  scien- 
tist and  savant,  but,  at  a  time  when  all  kinds  of  prejudices 
ruled  unassailed,  a  man  who  had  retained  the  uncompromis- 
ing radicalism  of  the  first  half  of  the  century.  The  spirit 
of  Knowledge  was  the  Holy  Spirit  to  him ;  the  profession  of 
doctor  had  placed  him  in  the  service  of  humanity,  and 
to  firmness  of  character  he  united  pure  philanthropy. 
The  most  despised  outcasts  of  society  met  with  the  same 
consideration  and  the  same  kindness  from  him  as  Its  favoured 
ones. 

His  wife  was  well  calculated,  by  her  charm  of  manner, 
to  be  the  centre  of  the  numerous  circle  of  talented  men  who, 
both  from  Denmark  and  abroad,  frequented  the  house. 
There  one  met  all  the  foreign  natural  scientists  who  came  to 
Copenhagen,  all  the  esteemed  personalities  Denmark  had  at 
the  time,  who  might  be  considered  as  belonging  to  the  freer 
trend  of  thought,  and  many  neutrals.  Actors  such  as  Hoedt 
and  Phister  went  there,  favourite  narrators  such  ns  Bergsoe, 
painters  like  Kroycr,  distinguished  scientists  like  J.  C. 
Schiodte,  the  entomologist.  This  last  was  an  Independent 
and  intellectual  man,  somewhat  touchy,  and  domineering  in 
his  manner,  a  master  of  his  subject,  a  man  of  learning,  be- 
sides, ceremonious,  often  cordial,  ready  to  listen  to  anything 


202  REMINISCENCES 

worth  hearing  that  was  said.  He  had  weaknesses,  never 
would  admit  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  was  even  very 
unwilling  to  own  he  had  not  read  a  book  that  was  being 
spoken  of.  Besides  which,  he  had  spent  too  great  a  part  of 
his  life  in  virulent  polemics  to  be  devoid  of  the  narrowing 
of  the  horizon  which  is  the  concomitant  of  always  watching 
and  being  ready  to  attack  the  same  opponent.  But  he  was  in 
the  grand  style,  which  is  rare  in  Denmark,  as  elsewhere. 

XIII. 

The  house  of  the  sisters  Spang  was  a  pleasant  one  to  go 
to;  they  were  two  unmarried  ladies  who  kept  an  excellent 
girls'  school,  at  which  Julius  Lange  taught  drawing.  Benny 
Spang,  not  a  beautiful,  but  a  brilliant  girl,  with  exceptional 
brains,  daughter  of  the  well-known  Pastor  Spang,  a  friend  of 
Soren  Kierkegaard,  adopted  a  tone  of  good-fellowship 
towards  me  that  completely  won  my  affection.  She  was  cheer- 
ful, witty,  sincere  and  considerate.  Not  long  after  we  be- 
came acquainted  she  married  a  somewhat  older  man 
than  herself,  the  gentle  and  refined  landscape  painter, 
Gotfred  Rump.  The  latter  made  a  very  good  sketch 
of  me. 

The  poet  Paludan-Miiller  and  the  Lange  family  visited 
at  the  house;  so  did  the  two  young  and  marvellously 
beautiful  girls.  Alma  Trepka  and  Clara  Rothe,  the  for- 
mer of  whom  was  married  later  to  Carl  Bloch  the 
painter,  the  other  to  her  uncle,  Mr.  Falbe,  the  Danish 
Minister  in  London. 

It  was  hard  to  say  which  of  the  two  was  the  more  beauti- 
ful. Both  were  unusually  lovely.  Alma  Trepka  was  queenly, 
her  movements  sedate,  her  disposition  calm  and  unclouded — 
Carl  Bloch  could  paint  a  Madonna,  or  even  a  Christ,  from 
her  face  without  making  any  essential  alteration  in  the  oval 
of  its  contours.  Clara  Rothe's  beauty  was  that  of  the  white 
hart  in  the  legend;  her  eyes  like  a  deer's,  large  and  shy, 
timid,  and  unself-conscious,  her  movements  rapid,  but  so 
graceful  that  one  was  fascinated  by  the  harmony  of 
them. 


EARLY  MANHOOD  203 

XIV. 

Just  about  this  time  a  foreign  element  entered  the  circle 
of  Copenhagen  students  to  which  I  belonged.  One  day  there 
came  into  my  room  a  youth  with  a  nut-brown  face,  short  and 
compactly  built,  who  after  only  a  few  weeks'  stay  in  Copen- 
hagen could  speak  Danish  quite  tolerably.  He  was  a  young 
Armenian,  who  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world  and  was  of 
very  mixed  race.  His  father  had  married,  at  Ispahan,  a 
lady  of  Dutch-German  origin.  Up  to  his  seventh  year  he 
had  lived  in  Batavia.  When  the  family  afterwards  moved 
to  Europe,  he  was  placed  at  school  in  Geneva.  He  had  there 
been  brought  up,  in  French,  to  trade,  but  as  he  revealed  an 
extraordinary  talent  for  languages,  was  sent,  for  a  year  or 
eighteen  months  at  a  time,  to  the  four  German  universities  of 
Halle,  Erlangen,  Gottingen  and  Leipzig.  Now,  at  the  age 
of  22,  he  had  come  to  Copenhagen  to  copy  Palahvl  and  San- 
scrit manuscripts  that  Rask  and  Westergaard  had  brought 
to  Europe.  He  knew  a  great  many  languages,  and  was 
moreover  very  many-sided  in  his  acquirements,  sang  German 
student  songs  charmingly,  was  introduced  and  invited  every- 
where, and  with  his  foreign  appearance  and  quick  intelligence 
was  a  great  success.  He  introduced  new  points  of  view,  was 
full  of  information,  and  brought  with  him  a  breath  from  the 
great  world  outside.  Industrious  though  he  had  been  before, 
Copenhagen  social  life  tempted  him  to  idleness.  His  means 
came  to  an  end;  he  said  that  the  annual  income  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  receiving  by  ship  from  India  had  this  year,  for  some 
inexplicable  reason,  failed  to  arrive,  dragged  out  a  miserable 
existence  for  some  time  under  great  difficulties,  starved,  bor- 
rowed small  sums,  and  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
come. 

XV. 

Knowing  this  Armenian  made  me  realise  how  restricted 
my  own  learning  was,  and  what  a  very  general  field  of  knowl- 
edge I  had  chosen. 

I  wrote  my  newspaper  articles  and  my  essays,  and  I 
worked  at  my  doctor's  thesis  on  French  i^sthetlcs,  which  cost 


204  REMINISCENCES 

me  no  little  pains;  it  was  my  first  attempt  to  construct  a  con- 
secutive book,  and  it  was  only  by  a  \ngorous  effort  that  I 
completed  it  at  the  end  of  1869.  But  I  had  then  been  casting 
over  in  my  mind  for  some  years  thoughts  to  which  I  never 
was  able  to  give  a  final  form,  thoughts  about  the  position  of 
women  in  society,  which  would  not  let  me  rest. 

A  w^oman  whose  thought  fired  mine  even  further  just 
about  this  time,  a  large-minded  woman,  who  studied  society 
with  an  uncompromising  directness  that  was  scarcely  to  be 
met  with  in  any  man  of  the  time  in  Denmark,  was  the  wife  of 
the  poet  Carsten  Hauch.  When  she  spoke  of  Danish  women, 
the  stage  of  their  development  and  their  position  in  law, 
their  apathy  and  the  contemptibleness  of  the  men,  whether 
these  latter  were  despots,  pedants,  or  self-sufficient  Christians, 
she  made  me  a  sharer  of  her  point  of  view ;  our  hearts  glowed 
with  the  same  flame. 

Rinna  Hauch  was  not,  like  certain  old  ladies  of  her 
circle,  a  "  woman's  movement  "  woman  before  the  name  was 
invented.  She  taught  no  doctrine,  but  she  glowed  with  ar- 
dour for  the  cause  of  freedom  and  justice.  She  saw  through 
the  weak,  petty  men  and  women  of  her  acquaintance  and  de- 
spised them.  She  too  passionately  desired  a  thorough  revo- 
lution in  modern  society  to  be  able  to  feel  satisfied  merely 
by  an  amelioration  of  the  circumstances  of  women  of  the 
middle  classes;  and  yet  it  was  the  condition  of  women,  espe- 
cially in  the  classes  she  knew  well,  that  she  thought  most 
about. 

She  began  to  place  some  credence  in  me  and  cherished 
a  hope  that  I  should  do  my  utmost  to  stir  up  the  stagnation 
at  home,  and  during  the  long  conversations  we  had  together, 
when,  in  the  course  of  these  Summers,  I  now  and  again  spent 
a  week  at  a  time  with  the  Hauchs  at  Hellebzek,  she  enflamed 
me  with  her  ardour. 

In  September,  1868,  after  wandering  with  my  old  friend 
up  and  down  the  shore,  under  the  pure,  starlit  heaven, 
and  at  last  finding  myself  late  at  night  in  my  room,  I  was 
unable  to  go  to  rest.  All  that  had  been  talked  of  and  dis- 
cussed in  the  course  of  the  day  made  my  head  hot  and 
urged  me  to  reflection  and  action.     Often  I  seized  a  piece  of 


EART.V   ArAXTTOr:)D  205 

paper  and  scribbled  off,  disconnectedly,  in  pencil,  remarks 
corresponding;  to  the  internal  agitation  of  my  mind,  jottings 
like  the  following,  for  example: 

S.  R.,  that  restive  fanatic,  has  a  wife  who  cannot  believe,  and  wishes 
for  nothing  but  to  be  left  in  peace  on  religions  matters.  He  forces  Iter  to  go 
to  Communion,  though  he  iiiiovvs  the  words  of  Scripture,  that  he  who  partalces 
unworthily  eats  and  drinks  to  his  own  damnation. 

There  is  not  one  sound,  healthy  sentiment  in  the  whole  of  our  religious 
state  of  being.  You  freciuentiy  hear  it  said:  "  Everj'one  can't  be  a  hypo- 
crite." True  enough.  But  begin,  in  the  middle  classes,  to  deduct  hypocrisy, 
and  gross  affectation  and  cowardly  dread  of  Hell,  and  see  what  is  left! 

If  we  have  young  people  worthy  the  name,  I  will  tell  them  the  truth; 
but  this  band  of  backboneless  creatures  blocks  up  the  view. 

Women  whom  Life  has  enlightened  and  whom  it  has  disappointed!  You 
I  can  help. 

I  see  two  lovers  hand  in  hand,  kissing  the  tears  away  from  each  other's 
eyes. 

I  can  only  rouse  the  wakeful.  Nothing  can  be  done  with  those  who  are 
incapable  of  feeling  noble  indignation. 

I  have  known  two  women  prefer  death  to  the   infamy  of  conjugal   life. 

Open  the  newspapers! — hardly  a  line  that  is  not  a  lie. 

And  poets  and  speakers  flatter  a  people  like  that. 

Christianity  and  Humanity  have  long  wished  for  divorce.  Now  this  is  an 
accomplished  fact. 

And  the  priests  are  honoured.  They  plume  themselves  on  not  having 
certain  vices,  for  which  they  are  too  weak. 

I  know  that  I  shall  be  stoned,  that  every  boy  has  his  baKIerdash  ready 
against  that  to  which  the  reflection  of  3'ears  and  sleepless  nights  has  given 
birth.     But  do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  anyone? 

Stupidity  was  always  the  bodyguard  of  Lies. 

A  people  who  have  put  up  with  the  Oldenborgs  for  four  hundred  years 
and  made  loyalty  to  them  into  a  virtue! 

They  do  not  even  ur.derstand  that  here  there  is  no  Aiiliclirist  but 
Common  Sense. 

Abandoned  by  all,  except  Unhappiness  and  me. 

When  did  God  become  Man?  When  Nature  reached  the  point  in  its 
development  at  which  the  first  man  made  his  appearance;  when  Nature  be- 
came man,  then   God  did. 


2o6  REMINISCENCES 

Women  say  of  the  beloved  one:    "A  bouquet  he  brings  smells  better  thao 

one  another  brings." 

You  are  weak,  dear  one,   God  help  you!     And  you  help!   and  I  help! 

These  thoughts  have  wrought  a  man  of  me,  have  finally  wrought  me  to 
a  man. 

I  procured  all  that  was  accessible  to  me  in  modern 
French  and  English  literature  on  the  woman  subject. 

In  the  year  1869  my  thoughts  on  the  subordinate  posi- 
tion of  women  in  society  began  to  assume  shape,  and  I  at- 
tempted a  connected  record  of  them.  I  adopted  as  my 
starting  point  Soren  Kierkegaard's  altogether  antiquated 
conception  of  woman  and  contested  it  at  every  point.  But 
all  that  I  had  planned  and  drawn  up  was  cast  aside  when  in 
1869  John  Stuart  Mill's  book  on  the  subject  fell  into  my 
hands.  I  felt  Mill's  superiority  to  be  so  immense  and  re- 
garded his  book  as  so  epoch-making  that  I  necessarily  had 
to  reject  my  own  draft  and  restrict  myself  to  the  transla- 
tion and  introduction  of  what  he  had  said.  In  November, 
1869,  I  published  Mill's  book  in  Danish  and  in  this  manner 
Introduced  the  modern  woman's  movement  into  Denmark. 

The  translation  was  of  this  advantage  to  me  that  it 
brought  me  first  into  epistolary  communication,  and  later  into 
personal  contact  with  one  of  the  greatest  men  of  the  time. 

XVI. 

There  was  one  of  the  political  figures  of  the  time  whom 
I  often  met  during  these  years.  This  was  the  man  most  be- 
loved of  the  previous  generation,  whose  star  had  certainly 
declined  since  the  war,  but  whose  name  was  still  one  to  con- 
jure with,  Orla  Lehmann. 

I  had  made  his  acquaintance  when  I  was  little  more 
than  a  boy,  in  a  very  curious  way. 

In  the  year  1865  I  had  given  a  few  lectures  in  C.  N. 
David's  house,  on  Runeberg,  whom  I  had  glorified  ex- 
ceedingly, and  as  the  David  and  Lehmann  houses,  despite 
the  political  differences  between  them,  were  closely  related 
one  to  the  other,  and  intimately  connected,  Orla  Lehmann 


EARLY  AIANHOOD  207 

had  heard  these  lectures  very  warmly  spoken  of.  At  that 
time  he  had  just  founded  a  People's  Society  as  a  counterpoise 
to  the  supremely  conservative  Society  of  August,  and,  look- 
ing out  for  lecturers  for  it,  hit  upon  the  twenty-three-year-old 
speaker  as  upon  a  possibility. 

I  was  then  living  in  a  little  cupboard  of  a  room  on  the 
third  floor  in  Crystal  Street,  and  over  my  room  was  one,  in 
the  attic,  inhabited  by  my  seventeen-year-old  brother,  who 
had  not  yet  matriculated. 

Orla  Lehmann,  who  had  been  told  that  the  person  he 
was  seeking  lived  high  up,  rapidly  mounted  the  four  storeys, 
and  knocked,  a  little  out  of  breath,  at  the  schoolboy's  door. 
When  the  door  opened,  he  walked  in,  and  said,  still  standing: 

"  You  are  Brandes?  I  am  Lehmann."  Without  heed- 
ing the  surprise  he  read  In  the  young  fellow's  face,  he  went  on  : 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  give  a  lecture  to  the  People's 
Society  in  the  Casino's  big  room." 

As  the  addressee  looked  about  to  speak,  he  continued, 
drowning  every  objection,  "  I  know  what  you  are  going  to 
say.  That  you  are  too  young.  Youth  is  written  In  your 
face.  But  there  is  no  question  of  seniority  here.  I  am  ac- 
customed to  accomplish  what  I  determine  upon,  and  I  shall 
take  no  notice  of  objections.  I  know  that  you  are  able  to  give 
lectures,  you  have  recently  given  proof  of  it." 

At  last  there  was  was  a  minute's  pause,  permitting  the 
younger  one  to  interpose : 

"  But  you  arc  making  a  mistake.  It  Is  not  I  you  mean. 
It  must  be  my  elder  brother." 

"  Oh !  very  likely.     Where  does  your  brother  live?  " 

"  Just  underneath." 

A  minute  later  there  was  a  knock  at  the  third-storey  door 
beneath;  It  was  opened,  and  without  even  stopping  to  sit 
down,  the  visitor  began  : 

"You  are  Brandes?  I  am  Lehmann.  You  recently 
gave  some  lectures  on  Runeberg.  Will  you  kindly  repeat 
one  of  them  before  the  People's  Society  in  the  Casino's  big 
room  ?  " 

"Won't  you  sit  down?  I  thank  you  for  your  offer. 
But  my  lecture  was  not  good  enough  to  be  repeated  before 


2oS  REMINISCENCES 

so  large  a  gathering.  I  do  not  know  enough  about  Rune- 
berg's  life,  and  my  voice,  moreover,  will  not  carry.  I  should 
not  dare,  at  my  age,  to  speak  in  so  large  a  room." 

"  I  expected  you  to  reply  that  you  are  too  young.  Your 
youth  is  written  in  your  face.  But  there  is  no  question  of 
seniority  about  it.  1  am  accustomed  to  carry  through  any- 
thing that  I  have  determined  upon,  and  I  take  no  notice  of 
objections.  What  you  do  not  know  about  Runeberg's  life, 
you  can  read  up  in  a  literary  history.  And  if  you  can  give  a 
successful  lecture  to  a  private  audience,  you  can  give  one  in  a 
theatre  hall.  I  am  interested  in  you,  I  am  depending  on  you, 
I  take  your  promise  with  me.     Good-bye !  " 

This  so-called  promise  became  a  regular  nightmare  to 
me,  young  and  absolutely  untried  as  I  was.  It  did  not  even 
occur  to  me  to  work  up  and  improve  my  lecture  on  Runeberg, 
for  the  very  thought  of  appearing  before  a  large  audience 
alarmed  me  and  was  utterly  intolerable  to  me.  During  the 
whole  of  my  first  stay  in  Paris  I  was  so  tormented  by  the  con- 
sent that  Orla  Lehmann  had  extorted  from  me,  that  it  was  a 
shadow  over  my  pleasure.  I  would  go  happy  to  bed  and 
wake  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  with  the  terror  of  a  debtor 
over  something  far  off,  but  surely  threatening,  upon  me,  seek 
in  my  memory  for  what  it  was  that  was  troubling  me,  and 
find  that  this  far-off,  threatening  thing  was  my  promise  to 
Lehmann.  It  was  only  after  my  return  home  that  I  sum- 
moned up  courage  to  write  to  him,  pleading  my  youth  and 
unfitness,  and  begging  to  be  released  from  the  honourable 
but  distasteful  dut)'.  Orla  Lehmann,  in  the  meantime,  had 
in  all  probability  not  bestowed  a  thought  on  the  whole  mat- 
ter and  long  since  forgotten  all  about  it. 

In  any  case  he  never  referred  to  the  subject  again  in 
after  years,  when  we  frequently  met. 

Among  Brochner's  private  pupils  was  a  young  student, 
Kristian  M oiler,  by  name,  who  devoted  himself  exclusively 
to  philosophy,  and  of  whom  Brochner  was  particularly  fond. 
He  had  an  unusually  keen  intelligence,  inclined  to  critical  and 
disintegrating  research.  His  abilities  were  veiy  promising, 
inasmuch  as  it  seemed  that  he  might  be  able  to  establish 
destructive  verdicts  upon  much  that  was  confused,  or  self- 


EARLY   MANHOOD  209 

contradicting,  but  nevertheless  respected;  In  other  respects 
he  had  a  strangely  infertile  brain.  He  had  no  sudden  in- 
spirations, no  imagination.  It  could  not  be  expected  that 
he  would  ever  bring  forward  any  specially  new  thoughts, 
only  that  he  would  penetrate  confusion,  think  out  errors  to 
the  bottom,  and,  with  the  years,  carry  out  a  process  of  thor- 
ough cleansing. 

But  before  he  had  accomplished  any  independent  work 
his  lungs  became  affected.  It  was  not  at  once  perceived 
how  serious  the  affection  was,  and  Orla  Lehmann,  who,  with 
the  large-mindedness  and  open-handedness  of  a  patriot,  had 
taken  him  up,  as  well  as  sundry  other  young  men  who 
promised  well  or  were  merely  poor,  not  only  invited  him 
to  his  weekly  dinner-parties  at  Frederiksberg,  but  sent  him 
to  Upsala,  that  he  might  study  Swedish  philosophy  there. 
Moller  himself  was  much  inclined  to  study  Bostromianism 
and  write  a  criticism  of  this  philosophy,  which  was  at  that 
time  predominant  in  Sweden. 

He  ought  to  have  been  sent  South,  or  rather  to  a  sana- 
torium ;  Orla  Lehmann's  Scandinavian  sympathies,  however, 
determined  his  stay  in  the  North,  which  proved  fatal  to  his 
health. 

In  1868  he  returned  to  Copenhagen,  pale,  with  hollow 
cheeks,  and  a  stern,  grave  face,  that  of  a  marked  man,  his 
health  thoroughly  undermined.  His  friends  soon  learnt,  and 
doubtless  he  understood  himself,  that  his  condition  was  hope- 
less. The  quite  extraordinary  strength  of  character  with 
which  he  submitted,  good-temperedly  and  without  a  murmur, 
to  his  fate,  had  for  effect  that  all  who  knew  him  vied  with 
each  other  in  trying  to  lessen  the  bitterness  of  his  lot  and  at 
any  rate  show  him  how  much  they  cared  for  him.  As  he 
could  not  go  out,  and  as  he  soon  grew  incapable  of  connected 
work,  his  room  became  an  afternoon  and  evening  meeting- 
place  for  many  of  his  comrades,  who  w'cnt  there  to  distract 
him  with  whatever  they  could  think  of  to  narrate,  or  dis- 
cuss. }(  you  found  him  alone,  it  was  rarely  long  before  a 
second  and  a  third  visitor  came,  and  the  room  filled  up. 

Orla  Lehmann,  his  patron,  was  also  one  of  Kristian 
Moller's  frequent  visitors.     But  whenever  he  arrived,  gen- 


2IO  REMINISCENCES 

erally  late  and  the  last,  the  result  was  always  the  same.  The 
students  and  graduates,  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  room  in 
lively  converse,  were  struck  dumb,  awed  by  the  presence  of 
the  great  man;  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  one  would 
get  up  and  say  good-bye;  immediately  afterwards  the  next 
would  remember  that  he  was  engaged  elsewhere  just  at  that 
particular  time;  a  moment  later  the  third  would  slip  noise- 
lessly out  of  the  room,  and  it  would  be  empty. 

There  was  one,  however,  who,  under  such  circumstances, 
found  it  simply  impossible  to  go.  I  stayed,  even  if  I  had  just 
been  thinking  of  taking  my  leave. 

Under  the  autocracy,  Orla  Lehmann  had  been  the  lyri- 
cal figure  of  Politics;  he  had  voiced  the  popular  hopes  and 
the  beauty  of  the  people's  will,  much  more  than  the  political 
poets  did.  They  wrote  poetry;  his  nature  was  living  poetry. 
The  swing  of  his  eloquence,  which  so  soon  grew  out  of  date, 
was  the  very  swing  of  youth  in  men's  souls  then.  At  the 
time  I  first  knew  him,  he  had  long  left  the  period  of  his 
greatness  behind  him,  but  he  was  still  a  handsome,  well 
set-up  man,  and,  at  58  years  of  age,  had  lost  nothing  of 
his  intellectual  vivacity.  He  had  lost  his  teeth  and  spoke 
Indistinctly,  but  he  was  fond  of  telling  tales  and  told  them 
well,  and  his  enemies  declared  that  as  soon  as  a  witty  thought 
struck  him,  he  took  a  cab  and  drove  round  from  house  to 
house  to  relate  It. 

Passionately  patriotic  though  Orla  Lehmann  was,  he 
was  very  far  from  falling  Into  the  then  usual  error  of  over- 
estimating Denmark's  historical  exploits  and  present  impor- 
tance. He  related  one  day  that  when  he  was  In  Paris,  as  a 
young  man,  speaking  under  an  Impression  very  frequent 
among  his  travelled  compatriots,  he  had,  in  a  conversation 
with  Salnte-Beuve,  reproached  the  French  with  knowing  so 
shamefully  little  of  the  Danes.  The  great  critic,  as  was  his 
habit,  laid  his  head  a  little  on  one  side,  and  with  roguish 
Impertinence  replied:  "Eh!  hien,  faites  quelque  chose!  on 
parlera  de  voiis."  He  approved  of  the  reply.  We  younger 
ones  looked  upon  him  as  belonging  to  another  period  and  liv- 
ing In  another  plane  of  Ideas,  although,  being  a  liberal- 
minded  man,  he  was  not  far  removed  from  us.     He  was 


EARLY   MANHOOD  211 

supposed  K)  be  a  freethinker,  and  It  was  told  of  him  that 
when  his  old  housekeeper  repeatedly,  and  with  increasing 
impatience,  requested  him  to  come  to  table,  he  would  reply, 
in  the  presence  of  students — a  rallying  allusion  to  the  lady's 
Christian  disposition: 

"  Get  help  from  Religion,  little  Bech,  get  help  from 
Religion!  " — a  remark  that  in  those  days  would  be  regarded 
as  wantonly  irreligious  I 

People  felt  sorry  for  Lehmann  because  his  politics  had 
so  wholly  miscarried,  and  somewhat  sore  against  him  be- 
cause he  wanted  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  the  old  despotism 
and  the  unfavourable  circumstances  of  the  time.  Take  him 
altogether,  to  those  who  were  not  intimately  associated  with 
him,  and  did  not  share  the  strong  dislike  felt  against  him  in 
certain  circles,  he  was  chiefly  a  handsome  and  attractive 
antiquity. 

Kristian  Moller  died  in  1869,  and  his  death  was  deeply 
lamented.  He  was  one  of  the  few  comrades  admired  by  the 
younger  ones  alike  for  his  gifts  and  his  stoicism.  With  his 
death  my  opportunities  of  frequently  meeting  Orla  Lehmann 
ceased.  But  that  the  latter  had  not  quite  lost  sight  of  me, 
he  proved  by  appearing,  at  the  end  of  February,  1870,  at 
my  examination  upon  my  doctor's  thesis  at  the  University. 
As  on  this  occasion  Lehmann  arrived  a  little  late,  he  was 
placed  on  a  chair  in  front  of  all  the  other  auditors,  and  very 
imposing  he  looked,  in  a  mighty  fur  coat  which  showed  off 
his  stately  figure.  He  listened  very  attentively  to  every- 
thing, and  several  times  during  the  discussion  showed 
by  a  short  laugh  that  some  parrying  reply  had  amused 
him. 

Six  months  afterwards  he  was  no  more. 

XVII. 

During  those  years  I  came  Into  very  curious  relations 
with  another  celebrity  of  the  time.  This  was  M.  Gold- 
schmldt,  the  author,  whose  great  talent  I  had  considerable 
difficulty  In  properly  appreciating,  so  repelled  was  I  by  his 
uncertain  and  calculating  personality. 


212  REMINISCENCES 

I  saw  Goklschinidt  for  the  lirst  time,  when  I  was  a  young 
man,  at  a  large  ball  at  a  club  In  Copenhagen. 

A  man  who  had  emigrated  to  England  as  a  poor  boy 
returned  to  Copenhagen  in  the  sixties  at  the  age  of  fifty, 
after  having  acquired  a  considerable  fortune.  He  was  un- 
educated, kind,  impeccably  honourable,  and  was  anxious  to 
secure  acquaintances  and  associates  for  his  adopted  daugh 
ter,  a  delicate  young  girl,  who  was  strange  to  Copenhagen. 
With  this  object  in  view,  he  Invited  a  large  number  of  young 
people  to  a  ball  In  the  rooms  of  the  King's  Club,  provided 
good  music  and  luxurious  refreshments.  This  man  was  a 
cousin  of  Goldschmldt's,  and  as  he  himself  was  unable  to 
make  more  of  a  speech  than  a  short  welcome  to  table,  he 
begged  "  his  cousin,  the  poet,"  to  be  his  spokesman  on  this 
occasion. 

One  would  have  thought  that  so  polished  a  writer,  such 
a  master  of  language,  as  Goldschmidt,  would  be  able,  with 
the  greatest  ease,  to  make  an  after-dinner  speech,  especially 
when  he  had  had  plenty  of  time  to  prepare  himself;  but  the 
gift  of  speaking  Is,  as  everyone  knows,  a  gift  In  Itself.  And 
a  more  unfortunate  speaker  than  Goldschmidt  could  not  be. 
He  had  not  even  the  art  of  compelling  silence  while  he  spoke. 

That  evening  he  began  rather  tactlessly  by  telling  the 
company  that  their  host,  who  was  a  rich  man,  had  earned  his 
money  in  a  strictly  honourable  manner;  It  was  always  a  good 
thing  to  know  "  that  one  had  clear  ground  to  dance  upon  "; 
then  he  dwelt  on  the  Jewish  origin  of  the  giver  of  the  feast, 
and,  starting  from  the  assumption  that  the  greater  number 
of  the  Invited  guests  were  young  Jews  and  Jewesses,  he 
formulated  his  toast  In  praise  of  "  the  Jewish  woman,  who 
lights  the  Sabbath  candles."  The  young  Jewesses  called 
out  all  at  once:  "The  Danish  woman!  The  Danish 
woman  !  We  are  Danish !  "  They  were  irritated  at  the  dead 
Romanticism  Into  which  Goldschmidt  was  trying  to  push 
them  back.  They  lighted  no  Sabbath  candles!  they  did  not 
feel  themselves  Jewish  either  by  religion  or  nationality.  The 
day  of  Antisemltism  had  not  arrived.  Consequently  there 
was  still  no  Zionist  Movement.  They  had  also  often  felt 
vexed  at  the  descriptions  that  Goldschmidt  in  his  novels  fre- 


EARLY   AIANIIOOD  213 

quently  gave  of  modem  Jews,  whose  manners  and  mode  of 
expression  he  screwed  back  fifty  years. 

J  hese  cries,  which  really  had  nothing  offensive  about 
them,  made  (joldschmidt  lose  his  temper  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  shouted,  in  great  exasperation:  "  Will  you  keep  si- 
lence while  I  speak  !  What  manners  are  these  !  I  will  teach 
you  to  keep  silence !  "  and  so  forth, — which  evoked  a  storm 
of  laughter.  He  continued  for  some  time  to  rebuke  their 
exuberant  mirth  in  sc\ere  terms,  but  was  so  unsuccessful  that 
he  broke  off  his  speech  and,  very  much  out  of  humour,  sat 
down. 

Not  long  afterwards,  perhaps  in  the  year  1865,  I  came 
into  contact  with  Goldschmidt  once  only,  when  walking  one 
evening  with  Magdalene  Thoresen.  On  meeting  this  lady, 
whom  he  knew,  he  turned  round,  walking  with  her  as  far  as 
her  house  on  the  shores  of  the  Lakes,  after  which  his  way  led 
towards  the  town,  as  did  mine.  As  long  as  Mrs.  Thoresen 
was  present,  he  naturally  addressed  his  conversation  to  her 
and  expressed  himself,  as  his  habit  was,  without  much  cere- 
mony. For  instance,  he  said:  "  I  don't  as  a  rule  care  for 
women  writers,  not  even  for  those  we  have ;  but  I  will  concede 
that,  of  all  the  ladies  who  w^rite,  you  are  the  freshest."  When 
Mrs.  Thoresen  brought  the  conversation  round  to  her  favour- 
ite subject,  love,  he  said,  banteringly:  "  My  heart  is  like  the 
flags  of  the  Zouave  Regiments,  so  pierced  with  holes  that  it  is 
almost  imoossible  to  tell  what  the  material  originally  looked 
like." 

On  the  whole,  he  was  animated  and  polite,  but  his  glance 
was  somewhat  stinging. 

Goldschmidt  had  greater  difficulty  in  hitting  on  the  right 
manner  to  adopt  towards  a  much  younger  man.  ITc  used  ex- 
pressions which  showed  that  he  was  standing  on  his  dignity, 
and  was  all  the  time  conscious  of  his  own  superiority. 
"  People  have  spoken  about  you  to  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  know 
you  by  name."  The  word  here  rendered  people  had  a 
strangely  foreign  sound,  as  though  translated,  or  affected. 

"  Have  you  read  Taine's  History  of  English  Litera- 
ture? "  he  asked. 

"  No,  T  don't  know  it." 


214  REMINISCENCES 

"  Ah,  perhaps  you  are  one  of  those  who  regard  it  as  su- 
perfluous to  learn  about  anything  foreign.  We  have  enough 
of  our  own,  is  it  not  so  ?  It  is  a  very  widespread  opinion,  but 
it  is  a  mistake." 

"  You  judge  too  hastily;  that  is  not  jny  opinion." 

"  Oh,— ah.     Yes.     Good-bye." 

And  our  ways  parted. 

I  did  not  like  Goldschmidt.  He  had  dared  to  profane 
the  great  Soren  Kierkegaard,  had  pilloried  him  for  the  benefit 
of  a  second-rate  public.  I  disliked  him  on  Kierkegaard's 
account.  But  I  disliked  him  much  more  actively  on  my  mas- 
ter, Professor  Brochner's  account. 

Brochner  had  an  intense  contempt  for  Goldschmidt;  in- 
tellectually he  thought  him  of  no  weight,  as  a  man  he  thought 
him  conceited,  and  consequently  ridiculous.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  perception  of  the  literary  artist  in  him.  The  valu- 
able and  unusual  qualities  of  his  descriptive  talent  he  over- 
looked. But  the  ignorance  Goldschmidt  had  sometimes  shown 
about  philosophy,  and  the  incapacity  he  had  displayed  with 
regard  to  art,  his  change  of  political  opinion,  his  sentimen- 
tality as  a  wit,  all  the  weaknesses  that  one  Danish  critic  had 
mercilessly  dragged  into  the  light,  had  inspired  Brochner 
with  the  strongest  aversion  to  Goldschmidt.  Add  to  this 
the  personal  collisions  between  the  two  men.  At  some  public 
meeting  Brochner  had  gazed  at  Goldschmidt  with  such  an 
ironic  smile  that  the  latter  had  passionately  called  him  to 
account. 

"  Don't  make  a  scene  now  I  "  replied  Brochner. 

"  I  am  ready  to  make  a  scene  any^vhere,"  the  answer  Is 
reported  to  have  been. 

"  That  I  can  believe;  but  keep  calm  now!  " 

Shortly  afterwards,  in  North  and  South,  Goldschmidt, 
on  the  occasion  of  Brochner's  candidature  for  parliament,  had 
written  that  the  well-known  atheist,  H.  Brochner,  naturally, 
as  contributor  to  The  Fatherland,  was  supported  by  the 
"  Party."  Now,  there  was  nothing  that  annoyed  Brochner 
so  much  as  when  anyone  called  him  an  atheist,  and  tried  to 
make  him  hated  for  that  reason, — the  word,  It  is  true,  had  a 
hundred  times  a  worse  sound  then  than  now, — he  always 


EARLY   MANHOOD  215 

maintaining  that  he  and  other  so-called  atheists  were  far  more 
religious  than  their  assailants.  And  although  Goldschmidt's 
sins  against  Brochner  were  in  truth  but  small,  although  the 
latter,  moreover — possibly  unjustifiably — had  challenged  him 
to  the  attack,  Brochner  nevertheless  imbued  me  with  such  a 
dislike  of  Goldschmidt  that  I  could  not  regard  him  with  quite 
unprejudiced  eyes. 

Goldschmidt  tried  to  make  personal  advances  to  me  dur- 
ing my  first  stay  in  Paris  in  1866. 

Besides  the  maternal  uncle  settled  in  France,  of  whom  I 
have  already  spoken,  I  had  still  another  uncle,  my  father's 
brother,  who  had  gone  to  France  as  a  boy,  had  become  natu- 
ralised, and  had  settled  in  Paris.  He  was  a  little  older  than 
my  father,  a  somewhat  restless  and  fantastic  character,  whom 
Goldschmidt  frequently  met  at  the  houses  of  mutual  friends. 
He  let  me  know  through  this  man  that  he  would  like  to  make 
my  acquaintance,  gave  him  his  address  and  mentioned  his  re- 
ceiving hours.  As  I  held  back,  he  repeated  the  invitation,  but 
in  vain.  Brochner's  influence  was  too  strong.  A  few  years 
later,  in  some  dramatic  articles,  I  had  expressed  myself  in 
a  somewhat  satirical,  offhand  manner  about  Goldschmidt, 
when  one  day  an  attempt  was  made  to  bring  the  poet  and 
myself  into  exceedingly  close  connection. 

One  Spring  morning  In  1 869,  a  little  man  with  blue  spec- 
tacles came  Into  my  room  and  Introduced  himself  as  Gold- 
schmidt's  publisher,  Bookseller  Steen.  He  had  come  on  a 
confidential  errand  from  Goldschmidt,  regarding  which  he 
begged  me  to  observe  strict  silence,  whatever  the  outcome 
of  the  matter  might  be. 

Goldschmidt  knew  that,  as  a  critic,  I  was  not  in  sym- 
pathy with  him,  but  being  very  difficultly  placed,  he  appealed 
to  my  chivalry.  For  reasons  which  he  did  not  wish  to  enter 
into,  he  would  be  obliged,  that  same  year,  to  sever  his  con- 
nection with  Denmark  and  settle  down  permanently  In  Eng- 
land. For  the  future  he  should  write  In  English.  But  be- 
fore he  left  he  wished  to  terminate  his  literary  activity  in  his 
native  country  by  an  edition  of  his  collected  works,  or  at  any 
rate  a  very  exhaustive  selection  from  them.  He  would  not 
and  could  not  direct  so  great  an  undertaking  himself,  from 


2i6  REMINISCENCES 

another  country;  he  only  knew  one  man  who  was  capable  of 
doing  so,  iind  him  he  requested  to  undertake  the  matter. 
He  had  drawn  up  a  pLan  of  the  edition,  a  sketch  of  the  order 
in  which  the  writings  were  to  come  out,  and  what  the  volume 
was  to  contain,  and  he  placed  it  before  me  for  approval  or 
criticism.  The  edition  was  to  be  preceded  by  an  account  of 
Goldschmidt  as  an  author  and  of  his  artistic  development;  If 
I  would  undertake  to  write  this,  I  was  asked  to  go  to  see 
Goldschmidt,  in  order  to  hear  w'hat  he  himself  regarded  as 
the  main  features  and  chief  points  of  his  literary  career. 

The  draft  of  what  the  projected  edition  was  to  include 
made  quite  a  little  parcel  of  papers;  besides  these,  Steen  gave 
me  to  read  the  actual  request  to  me  to  undertake  the  task, 
which  was  cautiously  worded  as  a  letter,  not  to  me,  but  to 
Bookseller  Steen,  r.nd  which  Steen  had  been  expressly  enjoined 
to  bring  back  with  him.  Although  I  did  not  at  all  like  this 
last-mentioned  item,  and  although  this  evidence  of  distrust 
was  In  very  conspicuous  variance  with  the  excessive  and  un- 
merited confidence  that  wms  at  the  same  time  being  shown  me, 
this  same  confidence  Impressed  me  greatly. 

The  Information  that  Goldschmidt,  undoubtedly  the  first 
prose  writer  In  the  country,  w'as  about  to  break  off  his  liter- 
ary activity  and  permanently  leave  Denmark,  was  In  Itself 
overwhelming  and  at  once  set  my  Imagination  actively  at 
work.  What  could  the  reason  be?  A  crime?  That  was 
out  of  the  question.  What  else  could  there  be  but  a  love  af- 
fair, and  that  had  my  entire  sympathy.  It  was  well  known 
that  Goldschmidt  admired  a  very  beautiful  woman,  who  was 
•watched  the  more  jealously  by  her  husband,  because  the  lat- 
ter had  for  a  great  number  of  years  been  paralysed.  He 
would  not  allow  her  to  go  to  the  theatre  to  sit  anywhere  but 
In  the  mirror  box\  where  she  could  not  be  seen  by  the  public. 
The  husband  met  with  no  sympathy  from  the  public:  he  had 
always  been  a  characterless  and  sterile  writer,  had  published 
only  two  books,  written  in  a  diametrically  opposite  spirit, 

*The  mirror  box  was  a  box  in  the  first  Royal  Theatre,  surrounded  by  mir- 
rors and  with  a  grating  in  front,  where  the  stage  could  be  seen,  reflected  m 
the  mirrors,  but  the  occupants  were  invisible.  It  was  originally  constructed 
to  utilise  a  space  whence  the  performance  could  not  Otherwise  be  seen,  and  was 
generally  occupied  by  actresses,  etc. 


EARLY   MANHOOD  217 

flatly  contradicting  one  another.  As  long  as  he  was  able  to 
go  out  he  had  dyed  his  red  hair  black.  1  le  was  an  insignijicant 
man  in  every  way,  and  by  his  first  marriage  with  an  ugly  old 
maid  had  acquired  the  fortune  which  alone  had  enabled  him 
to  pay  court  to  the  beautiful  woman  he  subsequently  won. 

It  had  leaked  out  that  she  was  the  original  of  the  beau- 
tiful woman  in  The  Inheritance,  and  that  some  of  the  letters 
that  occur  in  it  were  really  notes  from  Goldschmidt  to  her. 

What  more  likely  than  the  assumption  that  the  posi- 
tion of  affairs  had  at  last  become  unbearable  to  Goldschmidt, 
and  that  he  had  determined  on  an  elopement  to  London? 
In  a  romantic  purpose  of  the  sort  Goldschmidt  could  count 
upon  the  sympathy  of  a  hot-blooded  young  man.  I  conse- 
quently declared  myself  quite  willing  to  talk  the  matter  over 
with  the  poet  and  learn  more  particulars  as  to  what  was  ex- 
pected of  me;  meanwhile,  I  thought  I  might  promise  my  as- 
sistance. It  was  Easter  week,  I  believe  Maunday  Thurs- 
day; I  promised  to  call  upon  Goldschmidt  on  one  of  the 
holidays  at  a  prearranged  time. 

Good  Friday  and  Lastcr  Sunday  I  was  prevented  from 
going  to  him,  and  I  had  already  made  up  my  mind  to  pay 
my  visit  on  Easter  Monday  when  on  Monday  morning  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Bookseller  Steen  which  made  me  ex- 
ceedingly indignant.  The  letter,  which  exhibited,  as  I  con- 
sidered, (Incorrectly,  as  it  turned  out),  unmistakably  signs  of 
having  been  dictated  to  him,  bore  witness  to  the  utmost  Im- 
patience. Steen  wrote  that  after  undertaking  to  pay  a  visit 
to  Goldschmidt  I  had  now  let  two  days  elapse  without  ful- 
filling my  promise.  There  was  "  no  sense  In  keeping  a  man 
waiting"  day  after  day,  on  such  important  business;  In 
Steen's  "  personal  opinion,"  It  had  not  been  at  all  polite  of 
me,  as  the  younger  author,  not  to  Inform  Goldschmidt  which 
day  I  would  go  to  see  him. 

I  was  very  much  cooled  by  reading  this  letter.  I  saw 
that  I  had  wounded  Goldschmldt's  vanity  deeply  by  not  go- 
ing to  him  immediately  upon  receipt  of  his  communication; 
but  my  chief  Impression  was  one  of  surprise  that  Goldschmidt 
should  reveal  himself  such  a  poor  psychologist  In  my  case. 
How  could  he  believe  that  I  would  allow  myself  to  be  ter- 


2i8  REMINISCENCES 

rifled  by  rough  treatment  or  won  by  tactless  reprimands? 
How  could  he  think  that  I  regarded  the  taslc  he  wished  to 
allot  me  as  such  an  honour  that  for  that  reason  I  had  not 
refused  it?  Could  not  Goldschmidt  understand  that  it  was 
solely  the  appeal  to  my  better  feelings  from  an  opponent, 
struck  by  an  untoward  fate,  that  had  determined  my  attitude? 

Simultaneously,  though  at  first  very  faintly,  a  suspicion, 
crossed  my  mind.  Was  it  possible  that  the  whole  touching 
story  which  had  been  confided  to  me  was  a  hoax  calculated 
to  disarm  my  antagonism,  arouse  my  sympathy  and  secure 
Goldschmidt  a  trumpeting  herald?  Was  it  possible  that  the 
mysterious  information  about  the  flight  to  London  was  only 
an  untruth,  the  sole  purpose  of  which  was  to  get  me  into 
Goldschmidt's  service? 

I  dismissed  the  thought  at  once  as  too  Improbable,  but 
it  recurred,  for  I  had  learnt  from  experience  that  even  dis- 
tinguished authors  sometimes  did  not  shrink  from  very  dar- 
ing means  of  securing  the  services  of  a  critic.  A  critic  is  like 
the  rich  heiress,  who  is  always  afraid  of  not  being  loved  for 
herself  alone.  Even  then,  I  was  very  loth  to  believe  that 
any  recognised  author,  much  less  a  writer  w^hose  position 
was  a  vexed  question,  would  make  advances  to  me  from 
pure  benevolence,  for  the  sake  of  my  beautiful  eyes,  as  they 
say  In  French. 

At  any  rate,  I  had  now  made  up  my  mind  not  to  have 
anything  whatever  to  do  with  the  matter.  I  replied  em- 
phatically: 

"  Lessons  In  politeness  I  take  from  no  one,  consequently 
return  you  the  enclosed  papers.  Be  kind  enough  to  appeal 
to  some  one  else." 

This  reply  was  evidently  not  the  one  the  letter  had  been 
intended  to  evoke.  Steen  rushed  up  to  me  at  once  to 
apologise,  but  I  did  not  see  him.  Twice  afterwards  he 
came  with  humble  messages  from  Goldschmidt  asking  me 
to  "  do  him  the  honour "  of  paying  him  a  visit.  But 
my  pride  w^as  touchy,  and  my  determination  unwavering. 
Undoubtedly  Steen's  letter  was  sent  at  Goldschmidt's  wish, 
but  it  is  equally  undoubted  that  Its  form  had  not  been  ap- 
proved by  him.     That  t^he  alliance  so  cleverly  led  up  to  came 


EARLY   MANHOOD  219 

to  nothing  was  evidently  as  unexpected  by  the  poet  as  unpal- 
atable to  him. 

Not  long  afterwards,  I  accidentally  had  strong  con- 
firmation of  my  suspicion  that  the  story  of  a  flight  from  Den- 
mark was  merely  an  invention  calculated  to  trap  me,  and 
after  the  lapse  of  some  time  I  could  no  longer  harbour  a 
doubt  that  Goldschmidt  had  merely  wished  to  disarm  a  critic 
and  secure  himself  a  public  crier. 

This  did  not  make  me  feel  any  the  more  tenderly  dis- 
posed towards  Goldschmidt,  and  my  feeling  lent  a  sharper 
tone  than  it  would  otherwise  have  had  to  an  essay  I  wrote 
shortly  afterwards  about  him  on  the  production  of  his  play 
Rabbi  and  Knight  at  the  Royal  Theatre. 

Three  years  passed  before  our  paths  crossed  again  and 
a  short-lived  association  came  about  between  us. 

XVIII. 

In  my  public  capacity  about  this  time,  I  had  many 
against  me  and  no  one  wholly  for  me,  except  my  old  pro- 
tector Brochner,  who,  for  one  thing,  was  very  ill,  and  for  an- 
other, by  reason  of  his  ponderous  language,  was  unknown  to 
the  reading  world  at  large.  Among  my  personal  friends 
there  was  not  one  who  shared  my  fundamental  views;  if  they 
were  fond  of  me,  it  was  in  spite  of  my  views.  That  in  itself 
was  a  sufficient  reason  why  I  could  not  expect  them,  in  the  in- 
tellectual feud  in  which  I  was  still  engaged,  to  enter  the  lists 
on  my  behalf.  I  did  not  need  any  long  experience  to  per- 
ceive that  complete  and  unmixed  sympathy  with  my  endeav- 
ours was  a  thing  I  should  not  find.  Such  a  sympathy  I  only 
met  with  in  reality  from  one  of  my  comrades,  Emil  Petersen, 
a  young  private  individual  with  no  connection  whatever  with 
literature,  and  without  influence  in  other  directions. 

Moreover,  I  had  learnt  long  ago  that,  as  a  literary  be- 
ginner in  a  country  on  a  Liliputian  scale,  I  encountered 
prompt  opposition  at  every  step,  and  that  ill-will  against  me 
was  always  expressed  much  more  forcibly  than  good-will, 
was  quickly,  so  to  say,  organised. 

I  had  against  me  at  once  every  literary  or  artistic  critic 


220  REMINISCENCES 

who  already  held  an  assured  position,  from  the  influential 
men  who  wrote  in  The  Falhcrlcmd  or  the  Beiiing  Times  to 
the  small  fry  who  snapped  in  the  lesser  papers,  and  if  they 
mentioned  me  at  all  it  was  with  the  utmost  contempt,  or  in 
some  specially  disparaging  manner.  It  was  the  rival  that  they 
fought  against.  Thus  it  has  continued  to  be  all  my  life. 
Certain  "  critics,"  such  as  Falkman  in  Denmark  and  Wirsen 
in  Sweden,  hardly  ever  put  pen  to  paper  for  some  forty 
years  without  bestowing  an  affectionate  thought  upon  me. 
(Later,  in  Norway,  I  became  Collin's  idee  fixe.) 

Add  to  these  all  who  feared  and  hated  a  train  of  thought 
which  in  their  opinion  was  dangerous  to  good  old-fashioned 
faith  and  morality. 

Definite  as  were  the  limits  of  my  articles  and  longer 
contributions  to  the  dispute  concerning  Faith  and  Science,  and 
although,  strictly  speaking,  they  only  hinged  upon  an  obscure 
point  in  Rasmus  Nielsen's  philosophy,  they  alarmed  and  ex- 
cited a  large  section  of  the  ecclesiastics  of  the  country.  I 
had  carefully  avoided  saying  anything  against  faith  or  piety; 
I  knew  that  Orthodoxy  was  all-powerful  in  Denmark.  How- 
ever, I  did  not  meet  with  refutations,  only  with  the  indig- 
nation of  fanaticism.  As  far  back  as  1867  Bjornson  had 
come  forward  in  print  against  me,  had  reproached  the  Daily 
Paper  with  giving  my  contributions  a  place  in  their  col- 
umns, and  reported  their  contents  to  the  Editor,  who  was 
away  travelling,  on  the  supposition  that  they  must  have  been 
accepted  against  his  wishes;  and  although  the  article  did  not 
bear  Bjornson's  name,  this  attack  was  not  without  w^eight. 
The  innocent  remark  that  Soren  Kierkegaard  was  the  Tycho 
Brahe  of  our  philosophy,  as  great  as  Tycho  Brahe,  but,  like 
him,  failing  to  place  the  centre  of  our  solar  system  in  its 
Sun,  gave  Bjornson  an  opportunity  for  the  statement, — 
a  very  dangerous  one  for  a  young  author  of  foreign 
origin  to  make, — that  the  man  who  could  write  like  that 
"  had  no  views  in  common  with  other  Danes,  no  Danish 
mind." 

The  year  after  I  was  astonished  by  inflammatory  out- 
bursts on  the  part  of  the  clergy.  One  day  in  1868  the  much- 
respected  Pastor  Hohlenberg  walked  into  my  friend  Benny 


EARLY   MANHOOD  221 

Spang's  house,  reprimanded  her  severely  for  receivln<r  such 
an  undoubted  heretic  and  heathen  under  her  roof,  and  de- 
manded that  she  should  break  off  all  association  with  me. 
As  she  refused  to  do  so  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his  argu- 
ments, losing  all  self-control,  he  flung  his  felt  hat  on  the 
floor,  continued  to  rage  and  rail  against  me,  and,  no  result 
coming  of  it,  dashed  at  last,  in  a  towering  passion,  out 
through  the  door,  which  he  slammed  behind  him.  There 
was  a  farcical  ending  to  the  scene,  since  he  was  obliged  to  ring 
at  the  door  again  for  his  hat,  which,  in  his  exasperation,  he 
had  forgotten.  This  was  a  kind  of  private  prologue  to  the 
ecclesiastical  drama  which  from  the  year  1871  upwards  was 
enacted  in  most  of  the  pulpits  of  the  country.  Only  the  par- 
sons instead  of  flinging  their  hats  upon  the  floor,  beat  their 
hands  against  the  pulpit. 

But  what  surprised  me,  a  literary  beginner,  still  more, 
was  the  gift  I  discovered  in  myself  of  hypnotising,  by  my 
mere  existence,  an  ever-increasing  number  of  my  contempo- 
raries till  they  became  as  though  possessed  by  a  hatred  which 
lasted,  sometimes  a  number  of  years,  sometimes  a  whole  life 
long,  and  was  the  essential  determining  factor  in  their  careers 
and  actions.  By  degrees,  in  this  negative  manner,  I  suc- 
ceeded In  engaging  the  attentions  of  more  than  a  score  of 
persons.  For  the  time  being,  I  encountered  the  phenom- 
enon in  the  person  of  one  solitary  genius-mad  individual. 
For  a  failure  of  a  poet  and  philosopher,  with  whom  I  had 
nothing  to  do,  and  who  did  not  interest  me  in  the  least,  I  be- 
came the  one  enemy  it  was  his  business  to  attack. 

Rudolf  Schmidt,  who  was  a  passionate  admirer  of  Ras- 
mus Nielsen,  in  whose  examination  lectures  he  coached  fresh- 
men, was  enraged  beyond  measure  by  the  objections,  per- 
fectly respectful,  for  that  matter,  in  form,  which  I  had  raised 
against  one  of  the  main  points  in  Nielsen's  philosophy.  In 
1866  he  published  a  pamphlet  on  the  subject;  in  1867  a  sec- 
ond, which,  so  possessed  was  he  by  his  fury  against  his  op- 
ponent, he  signed  with  the  latter's  own  initials,  Gb.  And 
from  this  time  forth,  for  at  least  a  generation,  it  became  this 
wretch's  task  in  life  to  persecute  me  under  every  possible  pseu- 
donym, and  when  his  own  powers  were  not  sufficient,  to  get 


222  REMINISCENCES 

up  conspiracies  against  me.     In  particular,  he  did  all  he 
could  against  me  in  Germany. 

Meanwhile,  he  started  a  magazine  in  order  to  bring 
before  the  public  himself  and  the  ideas  he  was  more  imme- 
diately serving,  viz.:  those  of  R.  Nielsen;  and  since  this  lat- 
ter had  of  late  drawn  very  much  nearer  to  the  Grundtvigian 
way  of  thinking,  partly  also  those  of  Grundtvig.  The  mag- 
azine had  three  editors,  amongst  them  R.  Nielsen  himself, 
and  when  one  of  them,  who  was  the  critic  of  the  Fatherland, 
suddenly  left  the  country,  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  took  his 
place.  The  three  names,  R.  Nielsen,  B.  Bjornson,  and  Ru- 
dolph Schmidt,  formed  a  trinity  whose  supremacy  did  not 
augur  well  for  the  success  of  a  beginner  in  the  paths  of  litera- 
ture, who  had  attacked  the  thinker  among  them  for  ideal  rea- 
sons, and  who  had  been  the  object  of  violent  attacks  from 
the  two  others.  The  magazine  Idea  and  Reality,  was,  as 
might  be  expected,  sufficiently  unfavourable  to  my  cause. 

The  sudden  disappearance  of  the  critic  of  The  Father- 
land from  the  literary  arena  was,  under  the  conditions  of  the 
time,  an  event.  He  had  no  little  talent,  attracted  by  ideas 
and  fancies  that  were  sometimes  very  telling,  repelled  by 
mannerisms  and  a  curious,  far-fetched  style,  laid  chief  empha- 
sis, In  the  spirit  of  the  most  modern  Danish  philosophy,  on 
the  will,  and  always  defended  ethical  standpoints.  From 
the  time  of  Bjornson's  first  appearance  he  had  attached  him- 
self so  enthusiastically  and  inviolably  to  him  that  by  the  gen- 
eral public  he  was  almost  regarded  as  Bjornson's  herald.  At 
every  opportunity  he  emphatically  laid  down  Bjornson's  Im- 
portance and  as  a  set-off  fell  upon  those  who  might  be  sup- 
posed to  be  his  rivals.  Ibsen,  in  particular,  received  severe 
handling.  His  departure  was  thus  a  very  hard  blow  for 
Bjornson,  but  for  that  matter,  was  also  felt  as  a  painful  loss 
by  those  he  opposed. 

XIX. 

Not  long  after  this  departure,  and  immediately  after 
the  publication  of  my  long  article  on  Goldschmidt,  I  received 
one  day,  to  my  surprise,  a  letter  of  eight  closely  written  pages 
from  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson,  dated  April  15th,  1869. 


EARLY   MANHOOD 


223 


What  had  called  it  forth  was  my  remark,  in  that  article, 
that  Bjornson,  like  Cjoidschmidt,  sometimes,  when  talent 
failed,  pretended  to  have  attained  the  highest,  pretended  that 
obscurity  was  the  equivalent  of  profundity.  When  writing 
this,  I  was  thinking  of  the  obscure  final  speech  about  God  in 
Heaven  in  Bjornson's  Mary  Stuart,  which  I  still  regard  as 
quite  vague,  pretentious  though  it  be  as  it  stands  there;  how- 
ever, it  was  an  exaggeration  to  generalise  the  grievance,  as  1 
had  done,  and  Bjornson  was  right  to  reply.  He  considered 
that  I  had  accused  him  of  insincerity,  though  in  this  he  was 
wrong;  but  for  that  matter,  with  hot-tempered  eloquence, 
he  also  denied  my  real  contention.     His  letter  began : 

Although  I  seldom  read  your  writings,  so  that  possibly  I  risk  speaking 
of  something  you  have  elsewhere  developed  more  clearly,  and  thus  making  a 
mistake,  I  nevertheless  wish  to  make  a  determined  protest  against  its  being 
called  a  characteristic  of  mine,  in  contrast  to  Oehlenschlager  (and  Hauch!!), 
to  strain  my  powers  to  reach  what  I  myself  only  perceive  unclearly,  and  then 
intentionally  to  state  it  as  though  it  were  clear.  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  re- 
semble Oehlenschlager  in  one  thing,  namely,  that  the  defects  of  my  book  are 
open  to  all,  and  are  not  glossed  over  with  any  sort  or  kind  of  lie;  anything 
unclear  must  for  the  moment  have  seemed  clear  to  me,  as  in  his  case.  My 
motto  has  always  been:  "Be  faithful  in  small  things,  and  God  shall  make 
you  ruler  over  great  things."  And  never,  no,  never,  have  I  snatched  after 
great  material  in  order  to  seem  great,  or  played  with  words  in  order  to  seem 
clever,  or  been  silent,  in  order  to  appear  deep.  Never.  The  examples  around 
me  have  been  appalling  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  that  they  have  been  so  because 
I  have  from  the  very  beginning  been  on  my  guard  against  lies.  There 
are  passages  in  every  work  which  will  not  yield  immediately  what  one  im- 
patiently demands  of  them; — and  then  I  have  always  waited,  never  tried; 
the  thing  has  had  to  come  itself  unforced,  and  it  is  possible  that  what  I  have 
received  has  been  a  deception;  but  I  have  believed  in  it;  to  me  it  has  been 
no  deception.  Before  I  finally  conclude,  I  always,  it  is  true,  go  over  again 
what  I  have  written  (as  in  the  case  of  Synno've,  and  A  Happy  Boy,  Betiveen 
the  Fifr/its,  etc.  I  wish  to  have  the  advantage  of  a  better  perception.  Thus 
far,  in  what  I  have  gone  through,  I  have  seen  weak  places  which  I  can  no 
longer  correct.     Lies  I  have  never  found. 

Unfortunately  one  is  often  exposed  to  the  danger  of  being  untrue;  but 
it  is  in  moments  of  surprise  and  absolute  passion,  when  something  happens 
to  one's  eye  or  one's  tongue,  that  one  feels  is  half  mad,  but  when  the  beast  of 
prey  within  one,  which  shrinks  at  nothing,  is  the  stronger.  Untrue  in  one's 
beautiful,  poetic  calm,  one's  confessional  silence,  at  one's  work,  I  think  very 
few  are. 

This  summing  up,  which  does  honour  to  Bjornson  and  is 
not  only  a  striking  self-verdict,  but  a  valuable  contribution 
to  poetic  psychology  in  general,  in  its  indication  of  the 
strength  of  the  creative  imagination  and  its  possibilities  of 
error,  was  followed  by  a  co-ordinate  attempt  at  a  character- 
isation and  appreciation  of  Goldschmidt: 


224  REMINISCENCES 

You  are  likewise  unjust  to  Goldschmidt  on  this  point,  that  I  know  with 
certainty.  Goldschmidt  is  of  a  naive  disposition,  susceptible  of  every  noble 
emotion.  It  is  true  that  he  often  stages  these  in  a  comic  manner,  and  what 
you  say  about  that  is  true;  he  does  the  same  in  private  life,  but  you  have 
not  recognised  the  source  of  this.  In  the  last  instance,  it  is  not  a  question  of 
what  we  think,  but  of  what  we  do.  Just  as  this,  on  the  whole,  is  an  error  that 
you  fall  persistently  into,  it  is  in  particular  an  error  here,  where,  for  in- 
stance, his  two  brothers,  with  the  same  qualifications  and  with  the  same  dual 
nature,  have  both  developed  into  characters,  the  one  indeed  into  a  remark- 
able personality.  But  Goldschmidt  began  as  a  corsair  captain  at  seventeen; 
his  courage  was  the  courage  behind  a  pen  that  he  fancied  was  feared,  his 
happiness  that  of  the  flatterer,  his  dread  that  of  being  vapid;  and  there  were 
many  other  unfavourable  circumstances,  for  that  matter.  .  .  .  He  is  now 
striving  hard  towards  what  he  feels  has,  during  his  life,  been  wasted  in  his 
ability,  both  moral  and  intellectual  qualities,  and  for  my  part,  I  respect  this 
endeavour  more  than  his  decisive  success  within  narrow  limits. 

In  this  passage  the  distinction  and  contrast  between 
contemplative  life  and  actual  existence  was  quite  in  the  Ras- 
mus Nielsen  spirit;  the  use  that  was  made  of  it  here  was 
strange.  One  would  suppose  that  the  example  adduced  es- 
tablished that  similar  natural  qualifications,  similar  family 
and  other  conditions,  In  other  words,  the  actual  essential  con- 
ditions of  life,  were  of  small  Importance  compared  with  one's 
mode  of  thought,  since  the  brothers  could  be  so  different; 
Bjornson  wished  to  establish,  hereby,  that  the  mode  of  life 
was  more  Important  than  the  mode  of  thought,  although 
the  former  must  depend  on  the  latter.  For  the  rest,  he 
alluded  to  Goldschmidt's  weak  points,  even  if  in  somewhat 
too  superior  a  manner,  and  without  laying  stress  upon  his 
great  artistic  importance,  with  leniency  and  good-will. 

But  If,  in  other  things  he  touched  upon,  he  had  an  eye 
for  essentials,  this  failed  him  sadly  when  the  letter  proceeded 
to  a  characterisation  of  the  addressee.  In  which  he  mixed  up 
true  and  false  in  inextricable  confusion.  Amongst  other 
things,  he  wrote : 

Here,  I  doubtless  touch  upon  a  point  that  is  distinctive  of  your  criticism. 
It  is  an  absolute  beauty  worship.  With  that  you  can  quickly  traverse  our  lit- 
tle literature  and  benefit  no  one  greatly;  for  the  poet  is  only  benefited  by  the 
man  who  approaches  him  with  afi^ection  and  from  his  own  standpoint;  the 
other  he  does  not  understand,  and  the  public  will,  likely  enough,  pass  with 
you  through  this  unravelling  of  the  thousand  threads,  and  believe  they  are 
growing;  but  no  man  or  woman  who  is  sound  and  good  lays  down  a  criti- 
cism of  this  nature  without  a  feeling  of  emptiness. 

I  chanced  to  read  one  of  your  travel  descriptions  which  realjy  became  _a 
pronouncement  upon  some  of  the  greatest  painters.  It  was  their  nature  in 
their  works  (not  their  history  or  their  lives  so  much  as  their  natural  disposi- 
tions)  that  you  pointed  out,— also  the  influence  of  their  time  upon  diem,  but 


EARLY   MANHOOD  225 

this  only  in  passing;  and  you  compared  these  painters,  one  with  another.  In 
itself,  much  of  this  mode  of  procedure  is  correct,  but  the  result  is  merely  racy. 
A  single  one  of  them,  seized  largely  and  aitectionately,  shown  in  such  man- 
ner that  the  different  paintings  and  figures  became  a  description  of  himself, 
but  were  simultaneously  the  unfolding  of  a  culture,  would  have  been  five 
times  as  understandable.  A  contrast  can  be  drawn  in  when  opportunity 
arises,  but  that  is  not  the  essential  task.  Vcs,  this  is  an  illustration  of  the 
form  of  your  criticism.  It  is  an  everlasting,  and  often  very  painful,  juxta- 
position of  things  appertaining  and  contrasting,  but  just  as  poetry  itself  is  an 
absorption  in  the  one  thing  that  it  has  extracted  from  the  many,  so  compre- 
hension of  it  is  dependent  on  the  same  conditions.  The  individual  work  or 
the  individual  author  whom  you  have  treated  of,  you  have  in  the  same  way 
not  brought  together,  but  disintegrated,  and  the  whole  has  become  merely  a 
piquant  piece  of  effectiveness.  Hitherto  one  might  have  said  that  it  was  at 
least  good-natured;  but  of  late  there  have  supervened  flippant  expressions, 
paradoxical  sentences,  crude  definitions,  a  definite  contumacy  and  disgust, 
which  is  now  and  again  succeeded  by  an  outburst  of  delight  over  the  thing 
that  is  peculiarly  Danish,  or  peculiarly  beautiful.  I  cannot  help  thinking  of 
P.  L.  Moller,  as  I  knew  him  in  Paris. 

There  are  a  tiiousand  things  between  Heaven  and  Earth  that  you  under- 
stand better  than  I.  But  for  that  very  reason  you  can  listen  to  me.  It  seems  to 
me  now  as  if  the  one  half  of  your  powers  were  undoing  what  the  other  half 
accomplishes.  I,  too,  am  a  man  with  intellectual  interests,  but  I  feel  no  co- 
operation. Might  there  not  be  other  tasks  that  you  were  more  fitted  for  than 
that  of  criticism?  I  mean,  that  would  be  less  of  a  temptation  to  you,  and 
would  build  up  on  your  personality,  at  the  same  time  as  you  yourself  were 
building?  It  strikes  me  that  even  if  you  do  choose  criticism,  it  should  be 
more  strongly  in  the  direction  of  our  educating  responsibilities  and  less  as  the 
arranger  of  technicalities,  the  spyer  out  of  small  things,  the  dragger  together 
of  all  and  everything  which  can  be  brought  forward  as  a  witness  for  or 
against  the  author,  which  is  all  frightfully  welcome  in  a  contemporary  critical 
epidemic  in  Copenhagen,  but,  God  help  me,  is  nothing  and  accomplishes 
nothing. 

This  part  of  the  letter  irritated  me  intensely,  partly  by 
the  mentor's  tone  assumed  in  it,  partly  by  a  summing  up  of 
my  critical  methods  which  was  founded  simply  and  solely  on 
the  reading  of  three  or  four  articles,  more  especially  those 
on  Rubens  and  Goldschmidt,  and  which  quite  missed  the 
point.  I  was  far  from  feeling  that  I  had  been  understood, 
and  for  that  reason  warned  against  extremes;  on  the  contrary, 
I  saw  myself  only  caricatured,  without  even  wit  or  humour, 
and  could  not  forget  that  the  man  who  had  sketched  this 
picture  of  me  had  done  his  utmost  to  injure  me.  And  he 
compared  me  with  P.  L.  Moller ! 

The  fact  that  the  conclusion  of  the  letter  contained  much 
that  was  conciliatory  and  beautiful  consequently  did  not  help 
matters.     Bjornson  wrote: 

When  you  write  about  the  Jews,  although  I  am  not  in  agreement  with 
you,  altoi^etlwr  in  agreement,  you  yet  seem  to  me  to  touch  upon  a  domain 
where  you  might  have  much  to  offer  us,  many  beautiful  prospects  to  open  to 


226  REMINISCENCES 

us.  In  the  same  way,  when  you  interpret  Shakespeare  (not  when  you  make 
poetry  by  the  side  ot  him),  when  you  tranquilly  expound,  I  seem  to  see  the 
beginnings  of  greater  works,  in  any  case  of  powers  which  I  could  imagine 
essentially  contributing  to  the  introduction  into  our  culture  of  greater  breadth 
of  view,  greater  moral  responsibility,  more  affection. 

When  I  now  read  these  words,  I  am  obliged  to  trans- 
port myself  violently  back,  into  the  feelings  and  to  the  in- 
tellectual standpoint  that  were  mine  at  the  time,  in  order 
to  understand  how  they  could  to  such  a  pitch  incense  me.  It 
was  not  only  that,  like  all  young  people  of  any  account,  I 
was  Irritable,  sensitive  and  proud,  and  unwilling  to  be  treated 
as  a  pupil;  but  more  than  that,  as  the  way  of  youth  is,  I  con- 
fused what  I  knew  myself  capable  of  accomplishing  with 
what  I  had  already  accomplished;  felt  myself  rich,  exuber- 
antly rich,  already,  and  was  indignant  at  perceiving  myself 
deemed  still  so  small. 

But  the  last  straw  was  a  sentence  which  followed: 

I  should  often  have  liked  to  talk  all  this  over  with  you,  when  last  I  was 
in  Copenhagen,  but  I  noticed  I  was  so  pried  after  by  gossips  that  I  gave  it  up. 

The  last  time  Bjornson  was  in  Copenhagen  he  had  writ- 
ten that  article  against  me.  Besides,  I  had  been  told  that 
some  few  times  he  had  read  my  first  articles  aloud  in  public 
in  friends'  houses,  and  made  fun  of  their  forced  and  tyro-like 
wording.  And  now  he  wanted  me  to  believe  that  he  had  at 
that  time  been  thinking  of  visiting  me,  in  order  to  come  to 
an  understanding  with  me.  And  worse  still,  the  fear  of  gos- 
sip had  restrained  him!  This  hero  of  will-power  so  afraid 
of  a  little  gossip!  He  might  go  on  as  he  liked  now,  I  had 
done  with  him.  He  did  go  on,  both  cordially  and  grace- 
fully, but  condescendingly,  quite  incapable  of  seeing  how 
wounding  the  manner  of  his  advances  was.  He  wished  to 
make  advances  to  me  and  yet  maintain  a  humiliating  attitude 
of  condescension : 

There  are  not  many  of  us  in  literature  who  are  in  earnest;  the  few  who 
are  ought  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  accidental  separation  that  opposed  opinions 
can  produce,  when  there  is  a  large  field  for  mutual  understaiiding  aiid 
co-operation.  I  sometimes  get  violently  irate  for  a  moment;  if  tliis  in 
lesser  men,  in  whom  there  really  is  something  base,  brings  about  a  lifelong 
separation,  it  does  not  greatly  afflict  me.  But  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  it 
should   influence   the   individuals  in   whom    I   feel  there   are  both   ability   and 


EARLY   MANHOOD  227 

will.  And  as  far  as  you  are  concerned,  I  have  such  a  strong  feeling  that  you 
must  be  standing  at  a  parting  of  the  ways,  that,  by  continuing  your  path  fur- 
ther, you  will  go  astray,  that  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  and  consctjuently  am 
speaking  from  my  heart  to  you  now.  If  you  do  not  understand,  I  am  sorry; 
that  is  all  I  can  say. 

In  the  Summer  I  am  going  to  Finmark,  and  involuntarily,  as  I  write  this, 
the  thought  occurs  to  me  what  a  journey  it  would  be  for  you;  away  from  every- 
thing petty  and  artificial  to  a  scenery  which  in  its  magnificent  loneliness  is  with- 
out parallel  in  the  world,  and  where  the  wealth  of  birds  above  us  and  fish  be- 
neath us  (whales,  and  shoals  of  herrings,  cod  and  capelans  often  so  close 
together  that  you  can  take  them  up  in  your  hands,  or  they  press  against  the 
sides  of  the  boat)  are  marvel  upon  marvel,  in  the  light  of  a  Sun  that  does 
not  set,  while  human  beings  up  there  live  quiet  and  cowed  by  Nature.  If 
you  will  come  with  me,  and  meet  me,  say,  at  Trondhjcm,  I  know  that  you 
would  not  regret  it.  And  then  I  should  get  conversation  again ;  here  tlierg 
are  not  many  who  hit  upon  just  that  which  I  should  like  them  to.  Think 
about  it. 

A  paragraph  relating  to  Magdalene  Thoresen  fol- 
lowed. But  what  is  here  cited  is  the  essential  part  of  the 
letter.  Had  its  recipient  known  Bjornson  better,  he  would 
in  this  have  found  a  foundation  to  build  upon.  But  as  things 
were,  I  altogether  overlooked  the  honestly  meant  friendli- 
ness in  it  and  merely  seized  upon  the  no  small  portion  of  it 
that  could  not  do  other  than  wound.  My  reply,  icy,  sharp 
and  in  the  deeper  sense  of  the  word,  worthless,  was  a  refu- 
sal. I  did  not  believe  in  Bjornson,  saw  in  the  letter  nothing 
but  an  attempt  to  use  me  as  a  critic,  now  that  he  had  lost  his 
former  advocate  in  the  Press.  The  prospect  of  the  jour- 
ney to  the  North  did  not  tempt  me;  in  Bjornson's  eyes  it 
would  have  been  Thor's  journey  with  Loki,  and  I  neither 
was  Loki  nor  wished  to  be. 

But  even  had  I  been  capable  of  rising  to  a  more  correct 
and  a  fuller  estimate  of  Bjornson's  character,  there  was  too 
much  dividing  us  at  this  time  for  any  real  friendship  to  have 
been  established.  Bjornson  was  then  still  an  Orthodox  Prot- 
estant, and  in  many  ways  hampered  by  his  youthful  impres- 
sions; I  myself  was  still  too  brusque  to  be  able  to  adapt  myself 
to  so  difficult  and  masterful  a  personality. 

Eight  years  elapsed  before  the  much  that  separated  me 
from  Bjornson  crumbled  away.  But  then,  when  of  his  own 
accord  he  expressed  his  regret  on  a  public  occasion  at  the 
rupture  between  us,  and  spoke  of  me  with  unprejudiced  com- 
prehension and  good-will,  I  seized  with  warmth  and  grati- 
tude the  hand  stretched  out  to  me.     A  hearty  friendship. 


228  REMINISCENCES 

bringing  with  It  an  active  and  confidential  correspondence, 
was  established  between  us  and  remained  unshaken  for  the 
next  ten  years,  when  It  broke  down,  this  time  through  no 
fault  of  mine,  but  through  distrust  on  Bjornson's  part,  just 
as  our  intimacy  had  been  hindered  the  first  time  through  dis- 
trust on  mine. 

The  year  1869  passed  In  steady  hard  work.  Among 
the  many  smaller  articles  I  wrote,  one  with  the  title  of  The 
Infinitely  Small  and  the  Infinitely  Great  in  Poetry,  starting 
with  a  re-presentment  of  Shakespeare's  Harry  Percy,  con- 
tained a  criticism  of  the  hitherto  recognised  tendency  of  Dan- 
ish dramatic  poetry  and  pointed  out  into  the  future.  The  pa- 
per on  H.  C.  Andersen,  which  came  into  being  towards  mid- 
summer, and  was  read  aloud  In  a  clover  field  to  a  solitary 
listener,  was  representative  of  my  critical  abilities  and  aims 
at  that  date.  I  had  then  known  Andersen  socially  for  a  con- 
siderable time.  My  cordial  recognition  of  his  genius  drew  us 
more  closely  together;  he  often  came  to  see  me  and  was  very 
ready  to  read  his  new  works  aloud  to  me.  It  Is  hardly  saying 
too  much  to  declare  that  this  paper  secured  me  his  friendship. 

The  fundamental  principles  of  the  essay  were  Influenced 
by  Talne,  the  art  philosopher  I  had  studied  most  deeply,  and 
upon  whom  I  had  written  a  book  that  was  to  be  my  doc- 
tor's thesis.  Lightly  and  rapidly  though  my  shorter  ar- 
ticles came  Into  being,  this  larger  task  was  very  long  In  hand. 
Not  that  I  had  little  heart  for  my  work;  on  the  contrary, 
no  question  Interested  me  more  than  those  on  which  my  book 
hinged;  but  there  were  only  certain  of  them  with  which,  as 
yet,  I  was  equal  to  dealing. 

First  and  foremost  came  the  question  of  the  nature  of 
the  producing  mind,  the  possibility  of  showing  a  connection 
between  Its  faculties  and  deriving  them  from  one  solitary 
dominating  faculty,  which  would  thus  necessarily  reveal  It- 
self In  every  aspect  of  the  mind.  It  puzzled  me,  for  ex- 
ample, how  I  was  to  find  the  source  whence  Pascal's  taste, 
both  for  mathematics  and  religious  philosophy,  sprang.  Next 
came  the  question  of  the  possibility  of  a  universally  applicable 
scientific  method  of  criticism,  regarded  as  Intellectual  optics. 
If  one  were  to  define  the  critic's  task  as  that  of  under- 


EARLY  MANHOOD  229 

standing,  through  the  discovery  and  elucidation  of  the  de- 
pendent and  conditional  contingencies  that  occur  in  the  intel- 
lectual world,  then  there  was  a  danger  that  he  might  approve 
everything,  not  only  every  form  and  tendency  of  art  that 
had  arisen  historically,  but  each  separate  work  within  each 
artistic  section.  If  it  were  no  less  the  critic's  task  to  distin- 
guish between  the  genuine  and  the  spurious,  he  must  at  any 
rate  possess  a  technical  standard  by  which  to  determine 
greater  or  lesser  value,  or  he  must  be  so  specially  and  extraor- 
dinarily gifted  that  his  instinct  and  tact  estimate  infallibly. 

Further,  there  was  the  question  of  genius,  the  point  on 
which  Taine's  theory  roused  decisive  opposition  in  me.  He 
regarded  genius  as  a  summing  up,  not  as  a  new  starting- 
point;  according  to  him  it  was  the  assemblage  of  the 
original  aptitudes  of  a  race  and  of  the  peculiarities  of  a 
period  in  which  these  aptitudes  were  properly  able  to  display 
themselves.  He  overlooked  the  originality  of  the  man  of 
genius,  which  could  not  be  explained  from  his  surroundings. 
the  new  element  which,  in  genius,  was  combined  vAth  the 
summarising  of  surrounding  particles.  Before,  when  study- 
ing Hegel,  I  had  been  repelled  by  the  suggestion  that  what 
spoke  to  us  through  the  artist  was  only  the  universally  valid, 
the  universal  mind,  which,  as  it  were,  burnt  out  the  origin- 
ality of  the  individual.  In  Taine's  teaching,  nation  and 
period  were  the  new  (although  more  concrete)  abstractions 
in  the  place  of  the  universally  valid;  but  here,  too,  the  par- 
ticularity of  the  individual  was  immaterial.  The  kernel  of 
my  work  was  a  protest  against  this  theory. 

I  was  even  more  actively  interested  in  the  fundamental 
question  raised  by  a  scientific  view  of  history.  For  some 
years  I  had  been  eagerly  searching  Comte  and  Littre,  Buckle, 
Mill  and  Taine  for  their  opinions  on  the  philosophy 
of  History.  Here,  too,  though  in  another  form,  the  ques- 
tion of  the  importance  of  the  individual  versus  the  masses 
presented  itself.  Statistics  had  proved  to  what  extent  con- 
scious actions  were  subordinated  to  uniform  laws.  We 
could  foresee  from  one  year  to  another  how  manv  murders 
would  be  committed  and  how  many  with  each  kind  of  instru- 
ment.    The   differences  between  men  and  men  neutralised 


230  REMINISCENCES 

each  other,  If  wc  took  the  average  of  a  very  large  number. 
But  this  did  not  prove  that  the  individual  was  not  of  consid- 
erable importance.  If  the  victory  of  Salamis  depended  on 
Themistocles,  then  the  entire  civilisation  of  Europe  hence- 
forth depended  on  him. 

Another  aspect  of  the  question  was:  Did  the  consist- 
ent determinism  of  modern  Science,  the  discovery  of  an  un- 
alterable Interdependency  In  the  intellectual,  as  in  the  physi- 
cal worlds,  allow  scope  for  actions  proceeding  otherwise  than 
merely  illusorily  from  the  free  purpose  or  determination  of 
the  individual?  Very  difficult  the  question  was,  and  I  did 
not  feel  confident  of  solving  it;  but  it  was  some  consolation 
to  reflect  that  the  doubt  as  to  the  possibility  of  demonstrat- 
ing a  full  application  of  the  law  in  the  domain  In  which  chance 
has  sway,  and  Ethics  its  sphere,  was  comparatively  infinitesi- 
mal In  the  case  of  those  domains  in  which  men  make  them- 
selves felt  by  virtue  of  genius  or  talent  as  producers  of  liter- 
ary and  artistic  works.  Here,  where  natural  gifts  and  their 
necessary  deployment  were  of  such  extraordinary  weight, 
the  probability  of  a  demonstration  of  natural  laws  was,  of 
course,  much  greater. 

The  general  fundamental  question  was:  Given  a  litera- 
ture, a  philosophy,  an  art,  or  a  branch  of  art,  what  Is  the 
attitude  of  mind  that  produces  it?  What  are  its  sufficing 
and  necessary  conditions?  What,  for  instance,  causes  Eng- 
land In  the  sixteenth  centur}^  to  acquire  a  dramatic  poetry  of 
the  first  rank,  or  Holland  in  the  seventeenth  centui7  a  paint- 
ing art  of  the  first  rank,  without  any  of  the  other  branches 
of  art  simultaneously  bearing  equally  fine  fruit  in  the  same 
country  ? 

My  deliberations  resulted,  for  the  time  being,  in  the  con- 
viction that  all  profound  historical  research  was  psychical 
research. 

That  old  piece  of  work,  revised,  as  it  now  is,  has  cer- 
tainly none  but  historic  Interest;  but  for  a  doctor's  thesis, 
it  is  still  a  tolerably  readable  book  and  may,  at  any  rate,  in- 
troduce a  beginner  to  reflection  upon  great  problems. 

After  the  fundamental  scientific  questions  that  engaged 
my  attention,  I  was  most  Interested  In  artistic  st}de.     There 


EARLY   MANHOOD  231 

was,  in  modern  Danish  prose,  no  author  who  unreservedly 
appealed  to  mc;  in  German  Heinrich  Kleist,  and  in  French 
Merimee,  were  the  stylists  whom  I  esteemed  most.  The  lat- 
ter, in  fact,  it  seemed  to  me  was  a  stylist  who,  in  unerring 
surcness,  terseness  and  plaSticism,  excelled  all  others.  He 
had  certainly  not  much  wannth  or  colour,  but  he  had  a 
sureness  of  line  equal  to  that  of  the  greatest  draughtsmen  of 
Italian  art.  His  aridity  was  certainly  not  winning,  and,  in 
reading  him,  I  frequently  felt  a  lack  of  breadth  of  view  and 
horizon,  but  the  compelling  power  of  his  line-drawing  capti- 
vated me.  When  my  doctor's  thesis  was  finished,  towards 
the  middle  of  December,  1869,  both  it  and  the  collection  of 
articles  bearing  the  name  Criticisms  and  Portraits  were 
placed  in  the  printer's  hands.  In  the  beginning  of  1870  two 
hitherto  unprinted  pieces  were  added,  of  which  one  was  a 
paper  written  some  time  before  on  Kamma  Rahbek,  which 
had  been  revised,  the  other,  a  new  one  on  Merimee,  which  in 
general  shows  what  at  that  time  I  admired  in  style. 

It  had  long  been  settled  that  as  soon  as  I  had  replied  to 
the  critics  of  my  thesis  I  should  start  on  prolonged  travels, 
the  real  educational  travels  of  a  young  man's  life.  I  had  a 
little  money  lying  ready,  a  small  bursary,  and  a  promise  of  a 
travelling  allowance  from  the  State,  which  promise,  however, 
was  not  kept.  This  journey  had  for  a  long  time  been  haunt- 
ing my  fancy.  I  cherished  an  ardent  wish  to  see  France 
again,  but  even  more  especially  to  go  to  Italy  and  countries 
still  farther  South.  My  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  North- 
ern Africa  was  only  fulfilled  thirty-five  years  later;  but  I  got 
as  far  as  Italy,  which  was  the  actual  goal  of  my  desires.  I 
knew  enough  of  the  country,  its  history  from  ancient  days 
until  then,  and  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  its  Art  from 
Roman  times  upwards  and  during  the  Renaissance,  to  be  re- 
garded as  passed  for  intellectual  consecration  in  the  South. 

When  the  thesis  was  done  with  and  the  printing  of  the 
second  book  was  nearing  completion,  not  anxiety  to  travel, 
but  melancholy  and  heavy-heartedness  at  the  thought  of  my 
departure,  gained  the  upper  hand.  It  had  been  decided  that 
I  was  to  remain  away  at  least  a  year,  and  it  was  less  to  myself 
than  to  others  whom  I  must  necessarily  leave  behind,  that 


232  REMINISCENCES 

the  time  seemed  immeasurably  long.  Professor  Schiodte 
advised  me  rather  to  take  several  short  journeys  than  one 
long  one;  but  that  was  impracticable.  I  wanted  to  get  quite 
away  from  the  home  atmosphere.  As,  however,  there  were 
some  who  thought  of  my  journey  with  disquiet  and  dread, 
and  from  whom  it  was  difficult  for  me  to  tear  myself,  I  put 
off  my  departure  as  long  as  I  could.  At  last  the  remnant  of 
work  that  still  bound  me  to  Copenhagen  was  finished,  and 
then  all  the  new  and  enriching  prospects  my  stay  in  foreign 
countries  was  to  bring  me  shone  in  a  golden  light.  Full  of 
undaunted  hope,  I  set  out  on  my  travels  at  the  beginning  of 
April,  1870. 


SECOND    LONGER    STAY    ABROAD 

Hamburg— My  Second  Fatherland— Ernest  Hello— L^  Docteiir  A'oir- Talne 
— Renan — Marcelin — Gleyre — Taine's  Friendship — Renan  at  Home — 
Philarete  Chasles'  Reminiscences — Le  Theatre  Francais — Coquelin — 
— Bernhardt — Beginnings  of  Main  Currents — The  Tuileries — John  Stuart 
Mill — London — Philosophical  Studies — London  and  Paris  Compared — 
Antonio  Gallenga  and  His  Wife— Don  Juan  Prim— Napoleon  III— Lon- 
don Theatres — Gladstone  and  Disraeli  in  Debate — Paris  on  the  Eve  of 
War — First  Reverses — Flight  from  Paris — Geneva,  Switzerland — Italy 
— Pasquale  Villari — Vinnie  Ream's  Friendship — Roman  Fever — Henrik 
Ibsen's  Influence — Scandinavians  in  Rome. 

I. 

THE  first  thing  that  Impressed  me  was  Hamburg,  and 
by  that  I  mean  the  European  views  prevalent  there. 
At  that  time,  doubtless  mainly  for  national 
reasons,  Denmark  hated  Hamburg.  Different  Danish  authors 
had  recently  written  about  the  town,  and  in  as  depreciatory  a 
strain  as  they  could.  The  description  of  one  amounted  to  an 
assertion  that  In  iiamburg  people  only  talked  of  two  things, 
money  and  women;  that  of  another  commenced:  "Of  all  the 
places  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life,  Hamburg  is  the  most 
hideous." 

The  situation  of  the  town  could  not  be  compared  with 
that  of  Copenhagen,  but  the  Alster  quarter  was  attractive, 
the  architecture  and  the  street  life  not  uninteresting.  What 
decided  me,  however,  was  not  the  externals  of  the  town,  but 
the  spirit  T  noticed  pervading  the  conversation.  The  Idea  un- 
derlying things  was  that  a  young  man  must  first  and  fore- 
most learn  to  keep  himself  well  and  comfortably;  if  he 
could  not  do  this  In  Hamburg,  then  as  soon  as  possible  he 
must  set  off  to  some  place  across  the  sea,  to  Rio,  or  New 
York,  to  the  Argentine,  or  Cape  Colonv,  and  there  make  his 
way  and  earn  a  fortune.  The  sons  of  the  families  I  was  in- 
vited to  visit,  or  heard  talked  about,  had  long  been  away;  In 

233 


234  REMINISCENCES 

the  houses  I  went  to,  the  head  of  the  family  had  seen  other 
parts  of  the  world.  The  contrast  with  Copenhagen  was  ob- 
vious; there  the  young  sons  of  the  middle  classes  were  a  bur- 
den on  their  families  sometimes  until  they  were  thirty,  had 
no  enterprise,  no  money  of  their  own  to  dispose  of,  were 
often  glued,  as  it  were,  to  the  one  town,  where  there  was  no 
promotion  to  look  forward  to  and  no  wide  prospect  of  any 
sort. 

It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  been  so  much  struck  by 
anything  as  by  an  expression  that  a  Hamburg  lady,  who  had 
been  to  Copenhagen  and  had  stayed  there  some  time,  used 
about  the  young  Danish  men,  namely,  that  they  had  Vappar- 
ence  die  five.  I  tried  to  persuade  her  that  life  in  Copen- 
hagen had  only  accidentally  appeared  so  wretched  to  her;  but 
I  did  not  convince  her  in  the  least.  She  demonstrated  to  me, 
by  numerous  examples,  to  what  an  extent  enterprise  was  lack- 
ing in  Denmark,  and  I  was  obliged  to  restrict  myself  to  ex- 
plaining that  the  tremendous  pressure  of  political  pettiness 
and  weakness  had  brought  a  general  slackness  with  it,  with- 
out people  feeling  or  suspecting  it,  and  had  robbed  nearly 
every  one  of  daring  and  success.  The  result  of  the  conversa- 
tion was  that  Denmark  was  shown  to  me  in  a  fresh  light. 

A  Hamburg  merchant  who  had  lived  for  a  long  time  in 
Mexico  invited  me  to  dinner,  and  at  his  house  I  had  the 
same  impression  of  apparent  happiness,  comfort,  enterprise 
and  wide  outlook,  in  contrast  to  the  cares  and  the  narrow- 
ness at  home,  where  only  the  few  had  travelled  far  or  col- 
lected material  which  might  by  comparison  offer  new  points 
of  view  and  give  one  a  comprehensive  experience  of  life.  _  My 
psychological  education  in  Danish  literature,  with  its  idol- 
ising of  "  thoroughness  "  had  imprinted  on  my  mind  that 
whoever  thoroughly  understood  how  to  observe  a  man, 
woman  and  child  in  a  Copenhagen  backyard  had  quite  suffi- 
cient material  whence  to  brew  a  knowledge  of  human  nature. 
It  now  dawned  upon  me  that  comparative  observation  of  a 
Mexican  and  a  North  German  family,  together  with  their 
opinions  and  prejudices,  might  nevertheless  considerably  ad- 
vance one's  knowledge  of  human  nature,  should  such  com- 
parisons constantly  obtrude  themselves  upon  one. 


SECOND   LONGER   STAY  ABROAD  235 

The  same  man  let  fall  an  observation  which  set  me  think- 
ing. When  the  conversation  turned  upon  the  strained  rela- 
tions between  France  and  Prussia  since  the  battle  of  Konig- 
gratz,  and  I  expressed  myself  confident  that,  in  the  event  of 
a  war,  France  would  be  victorious,  as  she  generally  was  victo- 
rious everywhere,  he  expressed  well-supported  doubts.  Prus- 
sia was  a  comparatively  young  state,  extremely  well  organ- 
ised and  carefully  prepared  for  war;  antiquated  routine  held 
great  sway  in  the  French  army;  the  Emperor  himself,  the 
esteem  in  which  he  was  held,  and  his  management  were  on  the 
down  grade.  These  were  words  that  I  had  never  heard  in 
Denmark.  The  possibility  of  France  being  defeated  in  a  war 
with  Prussia  was  not  even  entertained  there. 

This  merchant  showed  me  an  original  photograph  of 
the  execution  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  taken  on  the  spot 
a  moment  before  the  word  to  fire  was  given,  and  a  second 
taken  immediately  aftei-wards.  The  calm  bearing  of  the 
Emperor  and  the  two  generals  compelled  admiration.  This 
was  the  first  time  1  had  seen  photography  taken  into  the  ser- 
vice of  history. 

In  the  Hamburg  Zoological  Gardens  I  was  fascinated 
by  the  aquarium,  with  its  multitudes  of  aquatic  animals  and 
fish.  There,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  saw  an  elephant, 
and  did  not  tire  of  gazing  at  the  mighty  beast.  I  was  struck 
by  the  strange  caprice  with  which  the  great  Being 
we  call  Nature  goes  to  work,  or,  more  correctly,  by  the 
contrast  between  the  human  point  of  view  and  Nature's 
mode  of  operations.  To  us,  the  elephant's  trunk  was 
burlesque,  its  walk  risibly  clumsy;  the  eagle  and  the  kite 
seemed  to  us,  as  they  sat,  to  have  a  severe  appearance  and  a 
haughty  glance;  the  apes,  picking  lice  from  one  another  and 
eating  the  vermin,  were,  to  our  eyes,  contemptible  and  ridicu- 
lous at  the  same  time;  but  Nature  took  everything  equally 
seriously,  neither  sought  nor  avoided  beauty,  and  to  her  one 
being  was  not  more  central  than  another.  That  must  be 
deemed  Nature's  central  point  which  is  equidistant  from  the 
lowest  and  from  the  highest  being;  it  was  not  impossible,  for 
instance,  that  the  harcfisli,  a  great,  thick,  odd-looking  creature, 
was  the  real  centre  of  terrestrial  existence,  in  the  same  way 


236  REMINISCENCES 

as  our  celestial  sphere  has  its  centre,  through  which  a  line 
reaches  the  pole  of  the  zodiac  in  the  constellation  of  the 
Dragon.  And  I  smiled  as  1  thought  of  R.  Nielsen  and  his 
pupils  always  speaking  as  If  they  stood  on  the  most  intimate 
footing  with  the  "  central  point  "  of  existence,  and  pouring 
contempt  on  others  who,  it  was  to  be  supposed,  could  not 
approach  it. 

I  was  very  unfavourably  impressed  in  Hamburg  by  Ger- 
man drama  and  German  dramatic  art. 

At  the  town  theatre,  Hebbel's  Judith  was  being  per- 
formed, with  Clara  Zlegler  in  the  leading  part.  At  that 
time  this  lady  enjoyed  a  considerable  reputation  in  Germany, 
and  was,  too,  a  tall,  splendid-looking  female,  with  a  powerful 
voice,  a  good  mimic,  and  all  the  rest  of  It,  but  a  mere 
word-machine.  The  acting  showed  up  the  want  of  taste  In 
the  piece.  Holofernes  weltered  knee-deep  in  gore  and 
bragged  Incessantly;  Judith  fell  in  love  with  his  "virility," 
and  when  he  had  made  her  "  the  guardian  of  his  slumbers  " 
murdered  him,  from  a  long  disremembered  loyalty  to  the 
God  of  Israel. 

At  the  Thalia  Theatre,  Raupach's  The  School  of  Life 
was  being  produced,  a  lot  of  silly  stuff,  the  theme  of  it,  for 
that  matter,  allied  to  the  one  dealt  with  later  by  Drachmann 
in  Once  upon  a  Time.  A  Princess  Is  hard-hearted  and  ca- 
pricious. To  punish  her,  the  King,  her  father,  shuts  a  man 
into  her  bedroom,  makes  a  feigned  accusation  against  her, 
and  actually  drives  her  out  of  the  castle.  She  becomes  a  wait- 
ing-maid, and  passes  through  various  stages  of  civil  life. 
The  King  of  Navarra,  whose  suit  she  had  haughtily  rejected, 
disguised  as  a  goldsmith,  marries  her,  then  arrays  himself  in 
silks  and  velvets,  to  tempt  her  to  infidelity.  When  she  refuses, 
he  allows  every  possible  injustice  to  be  heaped  upon  her,  to 
try  her,  makes  her  believe  that  the  King,  on  a  false  accusa- 
tion, has  had  her  husband's  eyes  put  out,  and  then  himself 
goes  about  with  a  bandage  before  his  eyes,  and  lets  her  beg. 
She  believes  everything  and  agrees  to  everything,  until  at  last, 
arrived  at  honour  and  glory,  she  learns  that  it  has  all  been 
only  play-acting,  trial,  and  education. 

This  nonsense  was  exactly  on  a  par  with  taste  in  Gcr- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      237 

many  at  the  time,  which  was  undeniably  considerably  below 
the  level  of  that  In  France  and  Denmark,  and  it  was  acted 
by  a  group  of  actors,  some  very  competent,  at  the  chief 
theatre  of  Hamburg.  Slowly  though  business  life  pulsated 
in  Denmark,  we  were  superior  to  Germany  in  artistic  per- 
ception. 

The  low  stage  of  artistic  development  at  which  Ham- 
burg had  then  arrived  could  not,  however,  efface  the  impres- 
sion its  superiority  over  Copenhagen  in  other  respects  had 
made  upon  me.  Take  it  all  together,  my  few  days  In  Ham- 
burg were  well  spent. 

II. 

And  then  "I  set  foot  once  more  In  the  country  which  I 
regarded  as  my  second  fatherland,  and  the  overflowing  happi- 
ness of  once  more  feeling  French  ground  under  my  feet  re- 
turned undiminished  and  unchanged.  I  had  had  all  my  let- 
ters sent  to  Mile.  Louise's  address,  so  fetched  them  shortly 
after  my  arrival  and  saw  the  girl  again.  Her  family  Invited 
me  to  dinner  several  times  during  the  very  first  week,  and  I 
was  associated  with  French  men  and  women  Immediately 
upon  my  arrival. 

They  were  well-brought-up,  good-natured,  hospitable 
bourgeois,  very  narrow  in  their  views.  Not  in  the  sense  that 
they  took  no  interest  in  politics  and  literature,  but  In  that 
questions  for  them  were  decided  once  and  for  all  In  the  cler- 
ical spirit.  They  did  not  regard  this  as  a  party  standpoint, 
did  not  look  upon  themselves  as  adherents  of  a  party;  their 
way  of  thinking  was  the  right  one;  those  who  did  not  agree 
with  them  held  opinions  they  ought  to  be  ashamed  of,  and 
which  they  probably,  in  private,  were  ashamed  of  holding  and 
expressing. 

Mile.  Louise  had  a  cousin  whom  she  used  to  speak  of  as 
a  warm-hearted  man  with  peculiar  opinions,  eager  and  impet- 
uous, who  would  like  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  her  friend 
from  the  North.  The  aunts  called  him  a  passionate  Catho- 
lic, and  an  energetic  writer  in  the  service  of  the  Church  Mili- 
tant.    Shortly  after  my  arrival,  I  met  him  at  dinner.     He 


238  REMINISCENCES 

was  a  middle-aged,  pale,  carelessly  dressed  man  with  ugly, 
irregular  features,  and  a  very  excitable  manner.  With  him 
came  his  wife,  who  though  pale  and  enthusiastic  like  himself, 
yet  looked  quite  terrestrial.  He  introduced  himself  as  Ernest 
Hello,  contributor  to  Veuillot's  then  much  talked  of  Romish 
paper,  IJUnivers,  which,  edited  with  no  small  talent  by  a 
noted  stylist,  adopted  all  sorts  of  abusive  methods  as  weapons 
in  every  feud  in  which  the  honour  of  the  Church  was  involved. 
It  was  against  Veuillot  that  Augier  had  just  aimed  the  intro- 
duction to  his  excellent  comedy,  Le  Fils  de  Giboyer,  and  he 
made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  in  the  Deodat  mentioned  in 
the  piece  he  had  had  this  writer  of  holy  abuse  in  his  mind. 
Hello  was  in  everything  Veuillot's  vassal. 

He  was  one  of  the  martial  believers  who  despised  and 
hated  the  best  free  research  men,  and  who  knew  himself  in  a 
position  to  confute  them.  He  possessed  some  elements  of 
culture,  and  had  early  had  thoroughly  drilled  into  him  what, 
in  comparison  with  the  views  of  later  times  on  History  and 
Religion,  was  narrow  and  antiquated  in  Voltaire's  education, 
and  for  this  reason  regarded,  not  only  Voltaire's  attack  on  the 
Church,  but  all  subsequent  philosophy  inimical  to  the  Church, 
as  belonging  to  a  bygone  age.  He  was  a  fanatic,  and  there 
was  a  sacristy  odour  about  all  that  he  said.  But  there  was 
in  his  disposition  an  enthusiastic  admiration  for  weakness  in 
fightmg  against  external  strength,  and  for  courage  that  ex- 
pressed itself  in  sheer  defiance  of  worldly  prudence,  that  made 
him  feel  kindly  towards  the  young  Dane.  Denmark's  taking 
up  arms,  with  its  two  million  inhabitants,  against  a  great 
power  like  Prussia,  roused  his  enthusiasm.  "  It  is  great,  it 
is  Spartan  !  "  he  exclaimed.  It  must  certainly  be  admitted  that 
this  human  sympathy  was  not  a  prominent  characteristic,  and 
he  wearied  me  with  his  hateful  verdicts  over  all  those  whom 
I,  and  by  degrees,  all  Europe,  esteemed  and  admired  in, 
France. 

As  an  instance  of  the  paradoxicalness  to  which  Huys- 
mans  many  years  later  became  addicted,  the  latter  tried  to 
puff  up  Hello  as  being  a  man  of  remarkable  intellect,-  and  an 
instance  of  the  want  of  independence  with  which  the  new 
Catholic  movement  was  carried  on  in  Denmark  is  to  be  found 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  239 

in  the  fact  that  the  organ  of  Young  Denmark,  The  Tower, 
could  declare:  "  Hello  is  one  of  the  few  whom  all  men  of  the 
future  are  agreed  to  bow  before.  .  .  .  Hello  was, — not  only 
a  Catholic  burning  with  religious  ardour, — but  a  genius; 
these  two  things  explain  everything." 

When  Hello  invited  me  to  his  house,  I  regarded  it  as 
my  duty  to  go,  that  I  might  learn  as  much  as  possible,  and  al- 
though his  circle  was  exceedingly  antipathetic  to  me,  I  did 
not  regret  it;  the  spectacle  was  highly  instructive. 

Next  to  Hello  himself,  who,  despite  his  fanaticism  and 
restlessness,  impressed  one  as  very  inoffensive  at  bottom,  and 
not  mischievous  if  one  steered  clear  of  such  names  as 
Voltaire  or  Kenan,  the  chief  member  of  his  circle  was  the 
black  doctor,  {le  Docteur  noir,)  so  much  talked  of  in  the  last 
years  of  the  Empire,  and  who  is  even  alluded  to  in  Taine's 
Graindorge.  His  real  name  was  Vries.  He  was  a  negro 
from  the  Dutch  West  Indies,  a  veritable  bull,  with  a  huge 
body  and  a  black,  bald  physiognomy,  made  to  stand  outside 
a  tent  at  a  fair,  and  be  his  own  crier  to  the  public.  His  con- 
versation was  one  Incessant  brag,  in  atrocious  French.  Al- 
though he  had  lived  seventeen  years  in  France,  he  spoke  al- 
most unintelligibly. 

He  persuaded  himself,  or  at  least  others,  that  he  had 
discovered  perpetual  motion,  vowed  that  he  had  made  a  ma- 
chine which,  "  by  a  simple  mechanism,"  could  replace  steam 
power  and  had  been  declared  practicable  by  the  first  en- 
gineers in  Paris;  but  of  course  he  declined  to  speak  freely 
about  it.  Columbus  and  Fulton  only  were  his  equals;  he 
knew  all  the  secrets  of  Nature.  He  had  been  persecuted — in 
1859  he  had  been  imprisoned  for  eleven  months,  on  a  charge 
of  quackery — because  all  great  men  were  persecuted;  remem- 
ber our  Lord  Jesus  Christ !  He  himself  was  the  greatest  man 
living.  Moi  voiis  dire  le  plus  grand  homme  d' universe. 
Hello  and  the  ladies  smiled  admiringly  at  him,  and  never 
grew  tired  of  listening  to  him.  This  encouraged  him  to 
monopolise  the  conversation :  He,  Vries,  was  a  man  possessed 
of  courage  and  wisdom;  he  understood  Phrenology,  Allo- 
pathy, Homoeopathy,  Engineering  Science,  Metereology — 
like  Moliere's  doctors  and  Holberg's  Oldfux.    His  greatest 


240  REMINISCENCES 

and  most  special  gift  was  that  of  curing  cancer.  Like  writing- 
masters,  who  hang  out  specimens  of  how  people  wrote  when 
they  came  to  them,  and  of  their  caligraphy  after  they 
had  benefited  by  their  instruction,  he  had  his  cancer  patients 
photographed  before  and  after  his  treatment,  looking 
ghastly  the  first  time,  and  as  fresh  as  a  flower  the  second, 
and  these  pictures  hung  on  view  in  his  house.  No  wonder, 
therefore,  that  Napoleon  III — so  Vries  said — had  his  por- 
trait in  an  album  containing,  besides,  only  portraits  of  Euro- 
pean sovereigns. 

He  pretended  that  he  had  made  many  important  proph- 
ecies. This  was  a  bond  between  him  and  Hello,  who 
claimed  the  same  extraordinary  power,  and  had  foretold  all 
sorts  of  singular  events.  He  performed  miraculous  cures; 
this  appealed  to  Hello,  who  was  suspicious  of  all  rational 
Science  and  ready  to  believe  any  mortal  thing.  He  could 
read  everybody's  characters  in  their  faces.  This  was  a  pre- 
text for  the  most  barefaced  flattery  of  Hello,  his  wife,  and 
their  friends  of  both  sexes,  and  of  course  everything  was 
swallowed  with  alacrity.  To  me  he  said:  "Monsieur  is 
gentle,  very  calm,  very  indulgent,  and  readily  forgives  an 
injury," 

Hideous  though  he  was,  his  powerful  brutality  had  a 
great  effect  on  the  ladies  of  the  circle.  They  literally  hung 
upon  his  words.  He  seized  them  by  the  wrists,  and  slid  his 
black  paws  up  their  bare  arms.  The  married  w^omen  whis- 
pered languishingly :  "  You  have  a  marvellous  power  over 
women."     The  husbands  looked  on  smilingly. 

Now  when  Hello  and  he  and  their  friends  and  the  la- 
dies began  to  talk  about  religious  matters  and  got  steam  up, 
it  was  a  veritable  witches'  Sabbath,  and  no  mistake,  every 
voice  being  raised  in  virulent  cheap  Jack  denunciation  of 
freedom,  and  common  sense.  Satan  himself  had  dictated 
Voltaire's  works;  now  Voltaire  was  burning  in  everlasting 
fire.  Unbelievers  ought  to  be  exterminated;  it  would  serve 
them  right.  Renan  oueht  to  be  hanged  on  the  first  tree  that 
would  bear  him:  the  Black  Doctor  even  maintained  that  in 
Manila  he  would  have  been  shot  long  aeo.  Tt  was  always 
the  Doctor  who  started  the  subject  of  the  persecution  of 


SF.COND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  241 

heretics.  Hello  himself  persecuted  heretics  with  patronising 
scorn,  but  was  already  ready  to  drop  into  a  hymn  of  praise  to 
the  Madonna. 

I  had  then  read  two  of  Hello's  books,  Le  Style  and  M. 
Renan,  L'Allemagne  et  I'Atheisme  an  igme  Steele.  Such 
productions  are  called  books,  because  there  is  no  other  name 
for  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  idle  talk  and  galimatias  of  the 
sort  are  in  no  wise  literature.  Hello  never  wrote  anything 
but  Roman  Catholic  sermons,  full  of  theological  sophistries 
and  abuse  of  thinking  men.  In  those  years  his  books,  with 
their  odour  of  incense,  made  the  small,  flat  inhabitants  of 
the  sacristy  wainscotting  venture  out  of  their  chinks  In 
the  wall  in  delight;  but  they  obtained  no  applause  else- 
where. 

It  was  only  after  his  death  that  it  could  occur  to  a  mor- 
bid seeker  after  originality,  with  a  bitter  almond  in  place  of 
a  heart,  like  Huysmans,  to  make  his  half-mad  hero,  Des 
Esseintes,  who  Is  terrified  of  the  light,  find  satisfaction  in 
the  challenges  to  common  sense  that  Hello  wrote.  Hello 
was  a  poor  wretch  who.  In  the  insane  conviction  that  he  him- 
self was  a  genius,  filled  his  writings  with  assertions  concern- 
ing the  marvellous,  incomprehensible  nature  of  genius,  and 
always  took  up  the  cudgels  on  Its  behalf.  During  the  Em- 
pire, his  voice  was  drowned.  It  was  only  a  score  of  years 
later  that  the  new  Catholic  reaction  found  It  to  their  ad- 
vantage to  take  him  at  his  word  and  see  In  him  the  genius 
that  he  had  given  himself  out  to  be.  He  was  as  much  a 
genius  as  the  madman  in  the  asylum  is  the  Emperor. 

III. 

A  few  days  after  my  arrival,  I  called  upon  Taine  and 
was  cordially  received.  He  presented  me  with  one  of  his 
books  and  promised  me  his  great  work,  De  I'lntelU^ence, 
which  was  to  come  out  in  a  few  days,  conversed  with  me  for 
an  hour,  and  invited  me  to  tea  the  following  evening.  He 
had  been  married  since  I  had  last  been  at  his  house,  and  his 
wife,  a  young,  clear-skinned  lady  with  black  plaits,  brown 
eyes  and  an  extremely  graceful  figure,  was  as  fresh  as  a  rose, 


242  REMINISCENCES 

and  talked  with  the  outspoken  freedom  of  youth,  though  ex- 
pressing herself  in  carefully  selected  words. 

After  a  few  days,  Taine,  who  was  generally  very  for- 
mal with  strangers,  treated  me  with  conspicuous  friendliness. 
He  offered  at  once  to  introduce  me  to  Renan,  and  urgently 
advised  me  to  remain  six  months  in  Paris,  in  order  to  master 
the  language  thoroughly,  so  that  I  might  enlighten  French- 
men on  the  state  of  things  in  the  North,  as  well  as  picture 
the  French  to  my  fellow-countrymen.  Why  should  I  not 
make  French  my  auxiliary  language,  like  Turgenieff  and 
Hillebrandt! 

Taine  knew  nothing  of  German  belles  lettres.  As  far  aS 
philosophy  was  concerned,  he  despised  German  i^^sthetics  al- 
together, and  laughed  at  me  for  believing  in  "  ^Esthetics  "  at 
all,  even  one  day  introducing  me  to  a  stranger  as  "  A  young 
Dane  who  does  not  believe  in  much,  but  is  weak  enough  to 
believe  in  ^^sthetics."  I  was  not  precisely  overburdened  by 
the  belief.  But  a  German  i^^sthetic,  according  to  Taine's 
definition,  was  a  man  absolutely  devoid  of  artistic  percep- 
tion and  sense  of  style,  who  lived  only  in  definitions.  If  you 
took  him  to  the  theatre  to  see  a  sad  piece,  he  would  tear  his 
hair  with  delight,  and  exclaim:  "  Foila  das  Tragische!  " 

Of  the  more  modern  German  authors,  Taine  knew  only 
FTeine,  of  whom  he  was  a  passionate  admirer  and  whom,  by 
reason  of  his  intensity  of  feeling,  he  compared  with  Dante. 
A  poem  like  the  Pilgrimage  to  KevJaar  roused  his  enthu- 
siasm. Goethe's  shorter  poems,  on  the  other  hand,  he  could 
not  appreciate,  chiefly  no  doubt  because  he  did  not  know 
German  sufficiently  well.  He  was  not  even  acquainted  with 
the  very  best  of  Goethe's  short  things,  and  one  day  that  I 
asked  him  to  read  one  poem  aloud,  the  words  in  his  mouth 
rang  very  French. 

Lieher  dur  Laydcun  mocht  ee  mee  schlag^e,  als  so  feel 
Frodenn  des  Laybengs  airtrah'ge,  was  intended  to  be — 

Lieber    durch   Leiden, 
Mocht  ich  mich  schlagen 
Als  so  viel   Freuden 
De3  Lebens  ertragen. 

Goethe's  prose  he  did  not  consider  good,  but  heavy  and 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  243 

prolix,  and  lacking  in  descriptive  power.  He  would  praise 
Voltaire's  prose  at  his  expense.  "  You  perceive  the  figure 
and  its  movements  far  more  clearly,"  he  said.  The  German 
romanticists  disgusted  him;  their  style,  also,  was  too  inar- 
tistic for  him  {Us  tie  savent  pas  ecrire,  cela  me  degoule 
d'eux) . 

I  frequently  met  friends  at  his  house,  amongst  others, 
Marcelin,  who  had  been  his  friend  from  boyhood,  and  upon 
whom,  many  years  later,  he  wrote  a  melancholy  obituary. 
This  man,  the  proprietor  of  that  supremely  worldly  paper, 
La  Vie  Parisienne,  was  a  powerful,  broad-shouldered,  ruddy- 
cheeked  man,  who  looked  the  incarnation  of  health  and  very 
unlike  one's  preconception  of  the  editor  of  the  most  frivo- 
lous and  fashionable  weekly  in  Paris.  He  was  a  draughts- 
man and  an  author,  had  studied  the  history  of  the  last  few 
centuries  in  engravings,  and  himself  owned  a  collection  of  no 
fewer  than  300,000.  What  Taine  had  most  admired  in  him 
was  the  iron  will  with  which,  left,  at  nineteen  years  of  age, 
penniless,  and  defectively  educated,  as  head  of  his  family, 
he  had  kept  his  mother  and  brothers  and  sisters  by  his  work. 
Next  to  that  Taine  admired  his  earnestness.  Marcelin,  who 
was  generally  looked  upon  as  belonging  to  gay  Paris,  was  a 
solitary-minded  man,  an  imaginative  re-creator  of  the  peo- 
ples of  the  past,  as  they  were  and  went  about,  of  their 
ways  and  customs.  He  it  was  who  opened  Taine's  eyes 
to  the  wealth  of  contributions  to  history  locked  up  in 
collections  of  engravings,  more  especially  perhaps  as  re- 
garded people's  external  appearance,  and  what  the  exte- 
rior  revealed. 

Another  friend  who  came  to  Taine  at  all  sorts  of  times 
was  Gleyre,  the  old  painter,  who  had  been  born  in  French 
Switzerland,  but  was  otherwise  a  Parisian.  And  he  w^as  not 
the  only  deeply  Idealistic  artist  with  whom  Taine  was  con- 
nected in  the  bonds  of  friendship.  Although  a  fundamental 
element  of  Taine's  nature  drew  him  magnetically  to  the  art 
that  was  the  expression  of  strength,  tragic  or  carnal  strength, 
a  swelling  exuberance  of  life,  there  was  yet  room  In  his  soul 
for  sympathy  with  all  artistic  endeavour,  even  the  purely 
emotional.     That  which  drew  him  to  the  idealistic  painters 


244  REMINISCENCES 

was,  at  bottom,  the  same  quality  as  drew  him  to  Beethoven 
and  Chopin. 

Gleyre's  best-known  picture  Is  the  painting  In  the 
Louvre,  somewhat  weak  in  colouring,  but  showing  much  feel- 
ing, a  Nile  subject  representing  a  man  sitting  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  and  watching  the  dreams  of  his  youth,  represented 
as  beautiful  women,  Heeing  from  him  on  a  decorated  daha- 
beah,  which  is  disappearing.  The  title  is  Lost  Illusions. 
There  is  more  strength  in  the  painting,  much  reproduced  in 
engraving,  of  a  Roman  army,  conquered  by  Divico  the  Hel- 
vetian, passing  under  the  yoke — a  picture  which,  as  an  ex- 
pression of  the  national  pride  of  the  Swiss,  has  been  placed  in 
the  Museum  at  Lausanne. 

Still,  it  was  the  man  himself,  rather  than  his  pictures, 
that  Taine  thought  so  much  of.  Intellectually,  Taine  was 
in  his  inmost  heart  an  admirer  of  the  Italian  and  the  Eng- 
lish Renaissance,  when  most  pagan  and  most  unrestrained; 
his  intellectual  home  was  the  Venice  of  the  sixteenth  century; 
he  would  have  been  in  his  right  place  at  one  of  the  festivals 
painted  by  Veronese,  and  should  have  worn  the  rich  and 
tasteful  costume  of  that  period.  But  socially,  and  as  a  citi- 
zen, he  was  quite  different,  was  affectionate  and  subdued 
and  calm,  excessively  conventional ;  temperate  In  all  his  judg- 
ments, as  in  his  life. 

If  I  succeeded  in  winning  his  good-will,  it  was  most  em- 
phatically not  because  I  had  written  a  book  about  him,  which, 
for  that  matter,  he  could  not  understand;  he  barely  glanced 
through  it;  he  read,  at  most,  the  appreciative  little  review 
that  Gaston  Paris  did  me  the  honour  to  write  upon  It  in  the 
Revue  Critique.  But  it  appealed  to  him  that  I  had  come 
to  France  from  pure  love  of  knowledge,  that  I  might  become 
acquainted  with  men  and  women  and  intellectual  life,  and 
that  I  had  spent  my  youth  in  study. 

He  grew  fond  of  me,  advised  me  as  a  father  or  an  elder 
brother  might  have  done,  and  smiled  at  my  imprudences — 
as  for  instance  when  I  almost  killed  myself  by  taking  too 
strong  a  sleeping  draught — {vous  etes  imprudent,  c'cst  de 
votre  a^e) .  He  sometimes  reproached  me  with  not  jotting 
down  every  day,  as  he  did,  whatever  had  struck  me ;  he  talked 


SECOND   LONGER   STAY  ADROAD  245 

to  mc  about  his  work,  about  the  projected  Essay  on  Schiller 
that  came  to  nothing  on  account  of  the  war,  of  his  Notes  stir 
I'Au^^leterre,  which  he  wrote  in  a  httle  out-of-the-way  sum- 
mer-house containing  nothing  save  the  four  bare  white- 
washed walls,  but  a  little  table  and  a  chair.  He  introduced 
into  the  book  a  few  details  that  I  had  mentioned  to  him  after 
my  stay  in  England, 

When  we  walked  in  the  garden  at  his  country-house  at 
Chatenay,  he  sometimes  flung  his  arm  round  my  neck — an 
act  which  roused  great  astonishment  in  the  Frenchmen  pres- 
ent, who  could  scarcely  believe  their  eyes.  They  knew  how 
reserved  he  usually  was. 

It  quite  irritated  Taine  that  the  Danish  Minister  did 
nothing  for  me,  and  introduced  me  nowhere,  although  he 
had  had  to  procure  me  a  free  pass  to  the  theatre.  Again 
and  again  he  reverted  to  this,  though  I  had  never  mentioned 
either  the  Minister  or  the  Legation  to  him.  But  the  revo- 
lutionary blood  in  him  was  excited  at  what  he  regarded  as  a 
slight  to  intellectual  aristocracy.  "  What  do  you  call  a  man 
like  that?  A  Junker?"  I  said  no.  "Never  mind!  it  is 
all  the  same.  One  feels  that  in  your  country  you  have  had 
no  revolution  like  ours,  and  know  nothing  about  equality. 
A  fellow  like  that,  who  has  not  made  himself  known  in  any 
way  whatever,  looks  down  on  you  as  unworthy  to  sit  at  his 
table  and  does  not  move  a  finger  on  your  behalf,  although 
that  is  what  he  is  there  for.  When  I  am  abroad,  they  come 
at  once  from  the  French  Embassy  to  visit  me,  and  open  to 
me  every  house  to  which  they  have  admittance.  I  am  a  per- 
son of  very  small  importance  in  comparison  with  Benedetti, 
but  Benedetti  comes  to  see  me  as  often  as  I  will  receive  him. 
We  have  no  lording  of  it  here." 

These  outbursts  startled  me,  first,  because  I  had  never 
in  the  least  expected  or  even  wished  either  to  be  received 
by  the  Danish  Minister  or  to  be  helped  by  him;  secondly, 
because  It  revealed  to  me  a  wide  difference  between  the  point 
of  view  In  the  Romance  countries,  in  France  especially,  and 
that  in  the  North.  Tn  Denmark,  I  had  never  had  the  entree 
to  Court  or  to  aristocratic  circles,  nor  have  I  ever  acquired  it 
since,  though,  for  that  matter,  I  have  not  missed  it  in  the 


246  REMINISCENCES 

least.  But  in  the  Romance  countries,  where  the  aristocratic 
world  still  occasionally  possesses  some  wit  and  education,  it  is 
taken  as  a  matter  of  course  that  talent  is  a  patent  of  nobility, 
and,  to  the  man  who  has  won  himself  a  name,  all  doors  are 
open,  indeed,  people  vie  with  one  another  to  secure  him. 
That  a  caste  division  like  that  in  the  North  was  quite  un- 
known there,  1  thus  learnt  for  the  first  time. 

IV.  ^•. 

Through  Taine,  I  very  soon  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Renan,  whose  personality  Impressed  me  very  much,  grand 
and  free  of  mind  as  he  was,  without  a  trace  of  the  unctuous- 
ness  that  one  occasionally  meets  in  his  books,  yet  superior 
to  the  verge  of  paradox. 

He  was  very  inaccessible,  and  obstinately  refused  to  see 
people.  But  If  he  were  expecting  you,  he  would  spare  you 
several  hours  of  his  valuable  time. 

His  house  was  furnished  with  exceeding  simplicity.  On 
one  wall  of  his  study  hung  two  Chinese  water-colours  and  a 
photograph  of  Gerome's  Cleopatra  before  Casar;  on  the 
opposite  wall,  a  very  beautiful  photograph  of  what  was 
doubtless  an  Italian  picture  of  the  Last  Day.  That  was  all 
the  ornamentation.  On  his  table,  there  always  lay  a  Virgil 
and  a  Horace  In  a  pocket  edition,  and  for  a  long  time  a 
French  translation  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

What  surprised  me  most  in  Renan's  bearing  was  that 
there  was  nothing  solemn  about  it  and  absolutely  nothing 
sentimental.  He  impressed  one  as  being  exceptionally  clever 
and  a  man  that  the  opposition  he  had  met  with  had  left  as 
it  found  him.  He  enquired  about  the  state  of  things  in  the 
North.  When  I  spoke,  without  reserve,  of  the  slight  pros- 
pect that  existed  of  my  coming  to  the  front  with  my  opinions, 
he  maintained  that  victory  was  sure.  (Fous  Vemporterez! 
voiis  Vemporterez!)  Like  all  foreigners,  he  marvelled  that 
the  three  Scandinavian  countries  did  not  try  to  unite,  or  at 
any  rate  to  form  an  indissoluble  Union.  In  the  time  of  Gus- 
tavus  Adolphus,  he  said,  they  had  been  of  some  political  im- 
portance; since  then  they  had  retired  completely  from  the 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      247 

historical  stage.     The  reason  for  it  must  very  probably  be 
sought  for  in  their  insane  internecine  feuds. 

Kenan  used  to  live,  at  that  time,  from  the  Spring  on- 
wards, at  his  house  in  the  country,  at  Sevres.  So  utterly  un- 
affected was  the  world-renowned  man,  then  already  forty- 
seven  years  of  age,  that  he  often  wallced  from  his  house  to 
the  station  with  me,  and  wandered  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form till  the  train  came. 

His  wife,  who  shared  his  thoughts  and  worshipped 
him,  had  chosen  her  husband  herself,  and,  being  of  German 
family,  had  not  been  married  after  the  French  manner;  still, 
she  did  not  criticise  it,  as  she  thought  it  was  perhaps  adapted 
to  the  French  people,  and  she  had  seen  among  her  intimate 
acquaintances  many  happy  marriages  entered  into  for  reasons 
of  convenience.  They  had  two  children,  a  son,  Ary,  who 
died  in  1900  after  having  made  a  name  for  himself  as  a 
painter,  and  written  beautiful  poems  (which,  however,  were 
only  published  after  his  death),  and  a  daughter,  Nocmi 
(Madame  Psichari)  who,  faithfully  preserving  the  intellect- 
ual heritage  she  has  received  from  her  great  father,  has  be- 
come one  of  the  centres  of  highest  Paris,  a  soul  of  fire,  who 
fights  for  Justice  and  Truth  and  social  ideas  with  burning  en- 
thusiasm. 

V. 

A  source  of  very  much  pleasure  to  me  was  my  acquain- 
tance with  the  old  author  and  College  de  France  Professor, 
Philarete  Chasles.  Gregoire  introduced  me  to  him  and  I 
gradually  became  at  home,  as  it  were,  in  his  house,  was  al- 
ways a  welcome  visitor,  and  was  constantly  invited  there.  In 
his  old  age  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  taken  very  seri- 
ously, being  diffusive,  vague  and  vain.  But  there  was  no 
one  else  so  communicative,  few  so  entertaining,  and  for 
the  space  of  fifty  years  he  had  known  everybody  who  had  been 
of  any  mark  in  France.  He  was  born  in  1798;  his  father, 
who  was  a  Jacobin  and  had  been  a  member  of  the  Conven- 
tion, did  not  have  him  baptised,  but  brought  him  up  to  be- 
lieve in'Truth,  (hence  the  name  Philarete,)  and  apprenticed 
him  to  a  printer.     At  the  Restoration  of  the  Royal  Family, 


248  REMINISCENCES 

he  was  Imprisoned,  together  with  his  father,  hut  released 
through  the  intiuence  of  Chateaubriand;  he  then  went  to 
England,  where  he  remained  for  full  seven  years  (1819- 
1826),  working  as  a  typographer,  and  made  a  careful  study 
of  English  literature,  then  almost  unknown  in  France.  After 
having  spent  some  further  time  in  Germany,  he  returned  to 
Paris  and  published  a  number  of  historical  and  critical 
writings. 

Philarete  Chasles,  as  librarian  to  the  Mazarin  Library, 
had  his  apartments  in  the  building  itself,  that  is,  in  the  very 
centre  of  Paris;  in  the  Summer  he  lived  in  the  country  at 
Meudon,  where  he  had  had  his  veranda  decorated  with  pic- 
tures of  Pompeian  mosaic.  He  was  having  a  handsome  new 
house  with  a  tower  built  near  by.  He  needed  room,  for  he 
had  a  library  of  40,000  volumes. 

His  niece  kept  house  for  him;  she  was  married  to  a 
German  from  Cologne,  Schulz  by  name,  who  was  a  painter 
on  glass.  The  pair  lived  apart.  Madame  Schulz  was 
pretty,  caustic,  spiteful,  and  blunt.  Her  daughter,  the  four- 
teen-year-old Nanni,  was  enchantingly  lovely,  as  developed 
and  mischievous  as  a  girl  of  eighteen.  Everyone  who  came 
to  the  house  was  charmed  with  her,  and  it  was  always  full 
of  guests,  young  students  from  Alsace  and  Provence,  young 
negroes  from  Haytl,  young  ladies  from  Jerusalem,  and  poet- 
esses who  would  have  liked  to  read  their  poems  aloud  and 
would  have  liked  still  better  to  induce  Chasles  to  make  them 
known  by  an  article. 

Chasles  chatted  with  everyone,  frequently  addressing 
his  conversation  to  me,  talking  incessantly  about  the  very 
men  and  women  that  I  most  cared  to  hear  about,  of  those 
still  living  whom  I  most  admired,  such  as  George  Sand,  and 
Merimee,  and,  in  fact,  of  all  the  many  celebrities  he  had 
known.  As  a  young  man,  he  had  been  taken  to  the  house  of 
Madame  Recamier,  and  had  there  seen  Chateaubriand, 
an  honoured  and  adored  old  man,  and  Sainte-Beuve  an 
eager  and  attentive  listener,  somewhat  overlooked  on  ac- 
count of  his  ugliness,  in  whom  there  was  developing  that  lurk- 
ing envy  of  the  great,  and  of  those  women  clustered  round, 
which  he  ought  to  have  combatted,  to  produce  just  criticism. 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      249 

Chaslcs  had  known  personally  Michelet  and  Guizot,  the 
elder  Dumas  and  Beyle,  Cousin  and  Villemaln,  Musset  and 
Balzac;  he  knew  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult,  for  so  many  years 
the  friend  of  Liszt,  and  Madame  Colet,  the  mistress,  Hrst 
of  Cousin,  then  of  Musset,  and  finally  of  Flaubert,  of  whom 
my  French  uncle,  who  had  met  her  on  his  travels,  had  drawn 
me  a  very  unattractive  picture.  Chasles  was  on  terms  of 
daily  Intimacy  with  Jules  Sandeau;  even  as  an  old  man  he 
could  not  forget  George  Sand,  w^ho  had  filched  the  greater 
part  of  his  name  and  made  it  more  illustrious  than  the  whole 
became.     Sandeau  loved  her  still,  forty  years  after  she  had 

left  him. 

Chasles  was  able,  in  a  few  words,  to  conjure  up  very 
vividly  the  Images  of  the  persons  he  was  describing  to  his  lis- 
tener, and  his  anecdotes  about  them  were  inexhaustible. 
He  took  me  behind  the  scenes  of  literature  and  I  saw  the 
stage  from  all  its  sides.  The  personal  history  of  his  con- 
temporaries was,  it  is  quite  true,  more  particularly  its  chron- 
icle of  scandals,  but  his  information  completed  for  me  the 
severe  and  graceful  restraint  of  all  Taine  said.  And  side 
by  side  with  his  Inclination  for  gay  and  malicious  gossip, 
Chasles  had  a  way  of  sketching  out  great  synopses  of  Intel- 
lectual history,  which  made  one  realise,  as  one  reflected,  the 
progress  of  development  of  the  literatures  with  which  one 
was  familiar.  Those  w^ere  pleasant  evenings,  those  moon- 
light Spring  evenings  In  the  open  veranda  out  there  at  Meu- 
don,  when  the  old  man  with  the  sharp-pointed  beard  and 
the  little  skull-cap  on  one  side  of  his  head,  was  spokesman. 
He  had  the  aptest  and  most  amusing  way  of  putting  things. 
For  Instance,  to  my  question  as  to  whether  Guizot  had  really 
been  as  austere  by  nature  as  he  was  in  manner,  he  replied: 
"  It  Is  hard  to  say;  when  one  welshes  to  impress,  one  cannot 
behave  like  a  harlequin." 

Although  I  had  a  keen  enough  eye  for  Phil  arete 
Chasles'  weaknesses,  I  felt  exceedingly  happy  In  his  house. 
There  T  could  obtain  without  difficulty  the  information  I 
wished  for,  and  have  the  feeling  of  being  thoroughly  "  in 
Paris."  Paris  was  and  still  Is  the  only  city  In  the  world  that 
is  and  wishes  to  be  the  capital  not  only  of  Its  own  country  but 


250  REMINISCENCES 

of  I'.uropc;  the  only  one  that  takes  upon  Itself  as  a  duty,  not 
merely  to  meet  the  visitor  half-way  by  opening  museums, 
collections,  buildings,  to  him,  but  the  only  one  where  people 
habitually,  in  conversation,  initiate  the  foreigner  in  search 
of  knowledge  into  the  ancient,  deep  culture  of  the  nation, 
so  that  its  position  with  regard  to  that  of  other  races  and 
countries  is  made  clear  to  one. 

VI. 

I  had  not  let  a  single  day  elapse  before  I  took  my  seat 

again  in  the  Theatre  Francais,  to  which  I  had  free  admission 
for  an  indefinite  period.  The  first  time  I  arrived,  the  door- 
keeper at  the  theatre  merely  called  the  sub-officials  together; 
they  looked  at  me,  noted  my  appearance,  and  for  the  future 
I  might  take  my  seat  wherever  1  liked,  when  the  man  at  the 
entrance  had  called  out  his  Entree.  They  were  anything 
but  particular,  and  In  the  middle  of  the  Summer,  after  a  visit 
of  a  month  to  London,  I  found  my  seat  reserved  for  me  as 
before. 

The  first  evening  after  my  arrival,  I  sat,  quietly  enjoy- 
ing Hernatii  (the  lyric  beauty  of  which  always  rejoiced  my 
heart),  with  Mounet-Sully  In  the  leading  role,  Bressant  as 
Charles  V,  and  as  Dona  Sol,  Mile.  Lloyd,  a  minor  actress, 
who,  however,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  piece,  rose  to  the  level 
of  the  poetry.  The  audience  were  so  much  in  sympathy  with 
the  spirit  of  the  piece  that  a  voice  from  the  gallery  shouted 
indignantly :  "  Le  roi  est  un  Idche!  "  Afterwards,  during 
the  same  evening,  I  saw,  in  a  transport  of  delight,  Mme. 
de  Girardln's  charming  little  piece,  La  Jole  fait  Peur.  A  cer- 
tain family  believe  that  their  son,  who  is  a  young  naval  offi- 
cer, fallen  in  the  far  East,  has  been  cruelly  put  to  death. 
He  comes  back,  unannounced,  to  his  broken-hearted  mother, 
his  despairing  bride,  his  sister,  and  an  old  man-servant. 
This  old,  bent,  faithful  retainer,  a  stock  dramatic  part, 
was  played  by  Regnier  with  the  consummate  art  that  is 
Nature  itself  staged.  He  has  hidden  the  returned  son  be- 
hind a  curtain  for  fear  that  his  mother,  seeing  him  unexpect- 
edly, should  die  of  joy.     The  sister  comes  in.     Humming, 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  251 

the  servant  begins  to  dust,  to  prevent  her  going  near  the 
curtain;  but  unconsciously,  in  his  delight,  his  humming  grows 
louder  and  louder,  until,  in  a  hymn  of  jubilation,  tratara- 
tratara  !  he  iiings  the  broom  up  over  his  head,  then  stops 
short  suddenly,  noticing  that  the  poor  child  is  standing  there, 
mute  with  astonishment,  not  knowing  what  to  think.  Capi- 
tal, too,  was  the  acting  of  a  now  forgotten  actress.  Mile. 
Dubois,  who  played  the  young  girl.  Her  exclamation,  as 
she  suddenly  sees  her  brother,  ''Jc  ;/'  at  pas  peiir,  va!"  was 
uttered  so  lightly  and  gaily,  that  all  the  people  round  me, 
and  I  myself,  too,  burst  into  tears. 

I  was  much  impressed  by  Edmond  Thierry,  then  direc- 
tor of  the  Thccitrc  Francais.  I  thought  him  the  most  re- 
fined man  I  had  so  far  met,  possessed  of  all  the  old  French 
courtesy,  which  seemed  to  have  died  out  in  Paris.  A  con- 
versation with  him  was  a  regular  course  in  Dramaturgy,  and 
although  a  young  foreigner  like  myself  must  necessarily  have 
been  troublesome  to  him,  he  let  nothing  of  this  be  perceptible. 
I  was  so  charmed  by  him  that  nearly  two  years  later  I  intro- 
duced a  few  unimportant  words  of  his  about  Moliere's  Misan- 
thrope Into  my  lectures  on  the  first  part  of  Main  Currents 
in  European  Literature,  simply  for  the  pleasure  of  mention- 
ing his  name. 

It  was,  moreover,  a  very  pleasant  thing  to  pay  him  a 
visit,  even  when  he  was  Interrupted.  For  actors  streamed 
In  and  out  of  his  house.  One  day,  for  Instance,  the  lovely 
Agar  burst  Into  the  room  to  tell  her  tale  of  woe,  being  dis- 
satisfied with  the  dress  that  she  was  to  wear  in  a  new  part. 
I  saw  her  frequently  again  when  war  had  been  declared,  for 
she  It  was  who,  every  evening,  with  overpowering  force  and 
art,  sang  the  Marseillaise  from  before  the  footlights. 

The  theatrical  performances  were  a  delight  to  me.  I 
had  been  charmed  as  much  only  by  Michael  Wiehe  and  Jo- 
hanne  Lulse  Heiberg  In  my  salad  days  when  they  played  to- 
gether In  Hertz's  Ninon.  But  my  artistic  enjoyment  went 
deeper  here,  for  the  character  portrayal  was  very  much  more 
true  to  life.  The  best  Impressions  T  had  brought  with  me  of 
Danish  art  were  supremely  romantic,  Michael  WIehe  as 
Henrik  In  The  Fairies,  as  the  Chevalier  in  Ninon,  as  MortI- 


252  REMINISCENCES 

mer  In  Schiller's  Mary  Stuart.  But  this  was  the  real,  living 
thing. 

One  evening  I  saw  Ristori  play  the  sleep-walking  scene 
in  Macbeth  with  thrilling  earnestness  and  supreme  virtuos- 
ity. You  felt  horror  to  the  very  marrow  of  your  bones,  and 
your  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  emotion  and  anxiety.  Masterly 
was  the  regular  breathing  that  indicated  slumber,  and  the 
stiff  fingers  when  she  washed  her  hands  and  smelt  them  to 
see  if  there  were  blood  upon  them.  But  Mme.  Favart,  who 
with  artistic  self-restraint  co-ordinated  herself  into  the  whole, 
without  any  virtuosity  at  all,  produced  no  less  an  effect  upon 
me.  As  the  leading  character  in  Feuillet's  Julie,  she  was 
perfection  Itself;  when  I  saw  her.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though 
no  one  at  home  In  Denmark  had  any  Idea  of  what  feminine 
characterisation  was.  What  had  been  taken  for  such  (Hei- 
berg's  art,  for  Instance,)  only  seemed  like  a  graceful  and 
brilliant  convention,  that  fell  to  pieces  by  the  side  of  this. 

The  performances  at  the  Theatre  Francais  lasted  longer 
than  they  do  now.  In  one  evening  you  could  see  Goz- 
lan's  Tempete  dans  un  verre  d'Eau,  Angler's  Gabrielle,  and 
Banville's  Gringoire.  When  I  had  seen  Mme.  Favart  and 
Regnler  In  Gabnelle,  Lafontalne  as  Louis  XI,  his  wife  as 
Loyse,  Mile.  Ponsin  as  Nicole,  and  Coquelln,  at  that  time 
still  young  and  fresh,  as  Gringoire,  I  felt  that  I  had  enjoyed 
one  of  the  greatest  and  most  elevating  pleasures  the  world 
had  to  offer.  I  went  home,  enraptured  and  enthusiastic,  as 
much  edified  as  the  believer  returning  from  his  church.  I 
could  see  Gringoire  a  dozen  times  In  succession  and  find  only 
one  expression  for  what  I  felt:      "This  Is  holy." 

The  piece  appealed  to  me  so  much,  no  doubt,  because 
it  was  more  In  agreement  than  the  rest  with  what  In  Den- 
mark was  considered  true  poetry.  But  during  the  three 
years  since  I  had  last  seen  him,  Coquelln  had  made  immense 
strides  In  this  role.  He  rendered  It  now  with  an  Individuality, 
a  heartfelt  sincerity  and  charm,  that  he  had  not  previously 
attained;  in  contrast  to  harsh  King  Louis  and  unfeeling 
Loyse,  was  so  poor,  and  hungry,  and  111  and  merry  and  tender 
and  such  a  hero  and  such  a  genius — that  I  said  to  myself: 
"Who,  ever  has  seen  this,  has  lived." 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  253 

Quite  a  short  while  after  my  arrival — April  12,  1870 
— I  saw  for  the  first  time  Sarah  Bernhardt,  who  had  just  be- 
gun to  make  a  name  at  the  Odeon.  She  was  playing  in 
George  Sand's  beautiful  and  mutinous  drama  L' autre,  from 
which  the  great-grandmother  in  Bjornson's  Leonarda  is  de- 
rived. The  piece  is  a  plea  for  the  freedom  of  love,  or 
rather,  for  Indulgence  with  regard  to  what  are  branded  by 
society  as  the  sins  of  love.  Sarah  Bernhardt  was  the  young 
girl  who,  in  her  innocence,  judges  all  moral  irregularities 
with  the  utmost  severity,  uncH  her  eyes  are  opened  to  what 
the  world  really  is.  She  is,  without  knowing  it,  the  child  of 
unlawful  love,  and  the  father's  curse  is  that  of  not  daring 
to  be  anything  to  his  child — whom  he  has  educated  and  ov^er 
whom  he  watches — not  daring  to  claim  his  right  to  her  af- 
fection, as  he  would  otherwise  stain  her  mother's  memory. 
In  his  presence,  the  young  girl  utters  all  the  hard  words  that 
society  has  for  those  who  break  her  laws;  she  calls  her  un- 
known father  false  and  forsworn.  George  Sand  has  col- 
lected all  the  justified  protests  and  every  prejudice  for  this 
young  girl  to  utter,  because  in  her  they  inspire  most  respect, 
and  are  to  their  best  advantage. — So  far  her  father  has  not 
revealed  himself.  Then  at  last  it  dawns  upon  her  that  It  Is 
he,  her  benefactor,  who  is  the  other  one  whom  she  has  just 
condemned,  and  as  the  curtain  falls  she  flings  herself,  melted, 
into  his  arms. 

Sarah  played  the  part  with  great  modesty,  with  what 
one  might  assume  to  be  the  natural  melancholy  of  the  orphan, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  young  virgin  for  strict  justice, 
and  yet  in  such  wise  that,  through  all  the  coldness,  throueh 
the  expressive  uncertainty  of  her  words,  and  especially 
through  the  lovely,  rich  rinq-  of  her  voice,  one  suspected  ten- 
derness and  mildness  long  held  back. 

VII. 

I  tried,  while  T  was  in  Paris,  to  understand  some- 
thing of  the  development  of  French  literature  since  the 
■beginning  of  the  century,  to  arrange  it  in  stages,  and  note 
the  order  of  their  succession;  I  wanted,  at  the  same  time,  to 


254  REMINISCENCES 

form  for  myself  a  similar  general  view  of  Danish  literature, 
and  institute  parallels  between  the  two,  being  convinced  be- 
forehand that  the  spirit  of  the  age  must  be  approximately  the 
same  in  two  European  countries  that  were,  so  to  speak,  intel- 
lectually allied.  This  was  my  first  naive  attempt  to  trace  The 
Main  Currents  in  Nineteenth  Century  Literature. 

The  French  poetry  of  the  nineteenth  century  seemed 
to  me  to  fall  into  three  groups:  Romanticism,  the  School  of 
Common  Sense,  the  Realistic  Art.  I  defined  them  as 
follows : 

I.  What  the  French  call  Romanticism  has  many  dis- 
tinguishing marks.  It  is,  firstly,  a  break  -with  Graco-Roman 
antiquity.  It  therefore  harks  back  to  the  Gallic,  and  to  the 
Middle  Ages.  It  is  a  resurrection  of  the  poets  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  But  the  attempt  Is  a  failure,  for  Ronsard 
and  the  Pleiad'  are  also  Greek-taught,  are  Anacreontics. 
If  we  except  the  Chanson  de  Roland,  there  is  no  original 
mediaeval  literature  that  can  be  compared  with  the  Icelandic. 
For  that  reason  the  choice  of  subjects  is  extended  from  the 
Middle  Ages  in  France  to  the  Middle  Ages  in  other  coun- 
tries, for  instance,  Germany,  whence  Victor  Hugo  derives 
his  drama  Les  Burgraves.  The  poets  select  foreign  matter, 
Alfred  de  Vigny  treats  Chatterton  and  Musset  Italian  and 
Spanish  themes.  Merimee  harks  back  to  the  French  Mid- 
dle Ages  (The  Peasant  Rising),  but  as  he  there  finds  too 
little  originality,  he  flees,  as  a  poet,  to  less  civilised  nationali- 
ties, Spaniards,  South  Americans,  Corslcans,  Russians,  etc. 
Romanticism  becomes  ethnographical. 

Its  second  distinguishing  mark  is  tempestuous  violence. 
It  is  connected  with  the  1830  revolution.  It  attacks  so- 
ciety and  the  conditions  of  property  (Saint  Simon,  Fourier, 
Proudhon),  attacks  marriage  and  the  ofHcial  verdict  upon 
sexual  relations  (Dumas'  Antony,  the  preface  to  Victor  Hu- 
go's Angelo,  George  Sand's  Indiana,  Valentine,  Jacques). 
Everywhere  Passion  Is  deified. 

Its  third  distinguishing  mark  is  its  Continuation  of 
Rousseauism.     Even   the   attacks   on   society   descend   from 

^The  poets  who  formed  the  first  and   greater  Pleiad  were,  besides  Ron- 
sard,   Diibellay,  Remi,   Belleau,  Jodelle,   Dorat,  Baif  and   Pontus   de  Thiard. 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  255 

Rousseau's  old  doctrine  that  Nature  is  good,  the  natural 
state  the  right  one,  and  that  society  alone  has  spoilt  every- 
thing. George  Sand  in  particular  worships  Rousseau,  and 
writes  in  essential  agreement  with  him. 

In  the  later  French  literature  the  influence  of  Voltaire 
and  that  of  Rousseau  are  alternately  supreme.  Voltaire  rules 
until  1820,  Rousseau  again  until  1850,  then  Voltaire  takes 
the  reins  once  more  with  About,  Taine,  and  Sarcey.  In  Renan 
Voltaire  is  merged  with  Rousseau,  and  now,  later  still,  Di- 
derot has  taken  the  place  of  both. 

II.  The  School  of  Common  Sense  {V Scale  de  hon 
sens)  follows  upon  Romanticism.  As  the  latter  worshipped 
passion,  so  the  School  of  Common  Sense  pays  homage  to 
sound  human  intelligence.  In  certain  individuals  it  is  pos- 
sible to  trace  the  transition — Musset's  Un  Caprice  in  con- 
trast with  the  wanton  works  of  his  youth.  George  Sand's 
village  novels,  in  contrast  with  her  novels  on  Marriage.  The 
popular  tone  and  the  landscape  drawing  here,  which,  for 
that  matter,  are  all  derived  from  Rousseau,  lead  on  into  a 
tranquil  idyl.  Works  like  Ponsard's  Lucrece  and  Augier's 
Gahrielle  show  the  reaction  from  Romanticism.  In  the 
tragedy  it  is  Lucrece,  in  the  modern  play,  Gabrielle,  upon 
whom  the  action  hinges.  In  Ponsard  and  Augier  common 
sense,  strict  justice,  and  a  conventional  feeling  of  honour, 
are  acclaimed.  Marriage  is  glorified  in  all  of  Ponsard, 
Augier  and  Octave  Feuillet's  dramas.  Literature  has  no 
doubt  been  influenced  in  some  degree  by  the  ruling  orders 
of  the  monarchy  of  July.  Louis  Philippe  was  the  bourgeois 
King.  An  author  like  Scribe,  who  dominates  the  stages  of 
Europe,  is  animated  by  the  all-powerful  bourgeois  spirit, 
educated  and  circumscribed  as  it  was.  Cousin,  in  his  first 
manner,  revolutionary  Schellingism,  corresponded  to  roman- 
ticism; his  eclecticism  as  a  moralising  philosopher  corre- 
sponds to  the  School  of  Common  Sense.  The  distinctive 
feature  which  they  have  in  common  becomes  a  so-called 
Idealism.  Ponsard  revives  the  classical  traditions  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  In  criticism  this  endeavour  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  sensible  and  the  classical,  is  represented  by 
Nlsard,  Planche,  and  Sainte-Beuve  in  his  second  manner. 


256  REMINISCENCES 

III.  The  third  tendency  of  the  century  Is  Realistic  Art, 
with  physiological  characteristics.  It  finds  its  support  in 
positivist  philosophy;  licrbart  in  Germany,  Bentham  and 
Mill  in  England,  Comte  and  Littre  in  France.  In  criti- 
cism, Sainte-Beuve's  third  manner.  On  the  stage,  the 
younger  Dumas.  In  novels,  the  brothers  Goncourt,  and 
Flaubert.  In  Art,  a  certain  brutality  in  the  choice  of  sub- 
ject, Gerome  and  Regnault.  In  politics,  the  accomplished 
fact  {le  fait  accompli)^  the  Empire,  the  brutal  pressure 
from  above  and  general  levelling  by  universal  suffrage  from 
below.  In  lyric  poetry,  the  strictly  technical  artists  of  form 
of  the  Parnasse,  Coppee,  who  describes  unvarnished  reality, 
and  the  master  workmen  {les  maitres  de  la  factiire)^  Le- 
conte  Delisle,  Gautier  and  his  pupils,  who  write  better  verse 
than  Lamartine  and  Hugo,  but  have  no  new  thoughts  or 
feelings — the  poetic  language  materialists. 

In  conclusion,  a  great  many  indistinct  beginnings,  of 
which  it  is  as  yet  impossible  to  say  whither  they  are  tending. 

This,  my  first  attempt  to  formulate  for  myself  a  gen- 
eral survey  of  one  of  the  great  literatures  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  contained  much  that  was  true  enough,  but  revealed 
very  plainly  the  beginner's  lack  of  ability  to  estimate  the  im- 
portance of  phenomena,  an  inclination  to  over-estimate 
purely  evanescent  apparitions,  and  a  tendency  to  include 
that  which  was  merely  externally  similar,  under  one  head- 
ing. The  insignificant  School  of  Common  Sense  could  not 
by  any  means  be  regarded  as  marking  an  epoch.  Neither, 
with  any  justice,  could  men  like  Augier  and  Dumas  be  placed 
In  different  groups.  The  attempt  to  point  out  realism,  in 
the  lyric  art  was  likewise  exceedingly  audacious. 

However,  this  division  and  grouping  seemed  to  me  at 
that  time  to  be  a  great  discovery,  and  great  was  my  disap- 
pointment when  one  day  I  consulted  Chasles  on  the  subject 
and  he  thought  it  too  forced,  and  another  day  submitted  It  to 
Kenan,  who  restricted  himself  to  the  reply: 

"No !  no  !    Things  do  not  proceed  so  systematically !" 

As  this  survey  of  the  literature  of  France  was  also  In- 
tended to  guide  me  with  regard  to  the  Danish,  I  groped  my 
way  forward  In  the  following  manner: 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  257 

I.  Romanticism.  Oehlenschliiger's  attitude  towards 
the  past  corresponds  exactly  to  Victor  Hugo's;  only  that  the 
resurrection  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  poetry  is  much  more  suc- 
cessful {Earl  llakon,  The  Gods  of  tlic  North),  by  reason  of 
the  fresh  originality  in  Snorre  and  the  Edda.  Grundtvlg's 
Scenes  from  tJie  Eives  of  the  IJ^arriors  of  the  North  likewise 
owes  all  its  value  to  the  Edda  and  the  Sagas.  Oehlen- 
schlager's  Aladdin  is  the  Northern  pendant  to  Hugo's 
Ees  Orientales.  Gautier,  as  a  poet,  Delacroix  as  a  painter, 
affect  the  East,  as  Oehlenschliiger  does  in  AH  and  Gnlhyndi. 
Steffens  and  Sibbern,  as  influenced  by  Schelling,  correspond 
to  Cousin.  Hauch  not  infrequently  seeks  his  poetic  themes  in 
Germany,  as  do  Nodier  and  Gerard  de  Nerval.  Ingemann's 
weak  historical  novels  correspond  to  the  French  imitations  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott  (Alfred  de  Vigny's  Cinq-Mars,  Dumas' 
Musketeers) .  Oehlenschliiger's  tragedies  correspond  to  the 
dramas  of  Victor  Hugo.  With  the  Danes,  as  with  the  French, 
hatred  of  intelligence,  as  cold;  only  that  the  Danes  glorify 
imagination  and  enthusiasm,  the  French,  passion.  Roman- 
ticism lasts  in  Denmark  (without  Revolutions  and  Restora- 
tions) until  about  1848,  as  in  France. 

II.  The  School  of  Common  Sense  is  in  Denmark 
partly  a  worship  of  the  sound  sense  of  the  people,  partly  a 
moralising  tendency.  Grundtvig,  with  his  popular  manner, 
his  appreciation  of  the  unsophisticated  peasant  nature,  had 
points  of  contact  with  the  pupils  of  Rousseau.  Moralising 
works  are  Heiberg's  A  Soul  after  Death,  Paludan-Miiller's 
Adam  Homo,  and  Kierkegaard's  Either-Or.  The  funny 
thing  about  the  defence  of  marriage  contained  in  this  last 
book  is  that  it  defends  what  no  one  in  Denmark  attacks.  It 
can  only  be  understood  from  the  contemporary  movement  in 
the  intellectual  life  of  Europe,  which  is  now  asserting  the  uni- 
versal validity  of  morality,  as  it  formerly  did  the  right  of 
passion.  Its  defence  of  Protestantism  corresponds  to  Oc- 
tave Feuillet's  defence  of  Catholicism,  only  that  Feuillet  is 
conciliaton^  Kierkegaard  vehement.  Bjornson's  peasant 
novels,  which  are  a  continuation  of  Grundtvig  and  Blicher, 
are,  by  their  harmony  and  their  peaceable  relations  to  all 
that  is,  an  outcome  of  love  of  common  sense ;  they  have  the 


258  REMINISCENCES 

same  anti-Byronic  stamp  as  the  School  of  Common  Sense. 
The  movement  comes  to  us  ten  years  later.  But  Bjornson 
has  simultaneously  something  of  Romanticism  and  some- 
thing of  Realism.  We  have  not  men  to  place  separately  in 
the  various  frames. 

III.  Realistic  Art.  There  is  so  far  only  an  attempt  at 
a  realistic  art. 

Thus,  In  Bjornson's  Arne  and  Sigurd  Slemhe.  Note 
also  an  attempt  in  Bergsoe's  clumsy  use  of  realistic  features, 
and  in  his  seeking  after  effect.  Richardt  corresponds  in  our 
lyric  art  as  an  artist  in  language  to  the  poets  of  the  Parnasse, 
while  Helberg's  philosophy  and  most  of  his  poetry  may  be 
included  In  the  School  of  Common  Sense.  Brochner's 
Ideal  Realism  forms  the  transitional  stage  to  the  philoso- 
phy of  Reality.  Ibsen's  attack  upon  the  existing  state  of 
things  corresponds  to  realism  In  the  French  drama.  He 
Is  Dumas  on  Northern  soil.  In  the  Love  Comedy,  as  a 
scoffer  he  is  Inharmonious.  In  Peer  Gynt,  he  continues  In 
the  moralising  tendency  with  an  inclination  to  coarse  and 
brutal  realistic  effects   (relations  with  Anitra). 

In  Germany  we  find  ourselves  at  the  second  stage 
still,  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  Into  dialect  and  popular 
subjects  (from  Auerbach  to  Claus  Groth  and  Fritz  Reuter) . 

It  Is  unnecessary  to  point  out  to  readers  of  the  present 
day  how  Incomplete  and  arbitrary  this  attempt  at  a  dissec- 
tion of  Danish  literature  was.  I  started  from  the  conviction 
that  modern  intellectual  life  in  Europe,  in  different  coun- 
tries, must  necessarily  in  all  essentials  traverse  the  same 
stages,  and  as  I  was  able  to  find  various  unimportant  points 
of  similarity  in  support  of  this  view,  I  quite  overlooked  the 
fact  that  the  counterbalancing  weight  of  dissimilarities  ren- 
dered the  whole  comparison  futile. 

IX. 

As,  during  my  first  stay  in  Paris,  I  had  frequently  vis- 
ited Madame  Victorine,  the  widow  of  my  deceased  uncle, 
and  her  children,  very  cordial  relations  had  since  existed  be- 
tween us,  especially  after  my  uncle's  faithless  friend  had  been 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  259 

compelled  to  disgorge  the  sums  sent  from  Denmark  for  her 
support,  which  he  had  so  high-handedly  kept  back.  There 
were  only  faint  traces  left  of  the  great  beauty  that  had  once 
been  hers;  life  had  dealt  hardly  with  her.  She  was  good 
and  tender-hearted,  an  affectionate  mother,  but  without  other 
education  than  was  usual  in  the  Parisian  small  bourgeol.? 
class  to  which  she  belonged.  All  her  opinions,  her  ideas  of 
honour,  of  propriety,  of  comfort  and  happiness,  were  typi- 
cal of  her  class. 

Partly  from  economy,  partly  from  a  desire  not  to  waste 
the  precious  time,  I  often,  In  those  days,  restricted  my  mid- 
day meal.  I  w'ould  buy  myself,  at  a  provision-dealer's,  a 
large  veal  or  ham  pie  and  eat  it  In  my  room,  Instead  of  going 
out  to  a  restaurant.  One  day  Victorine  surprised  me  at  a 
meal  of  this  sort,  and  exclaimed  horrified:  "Coitimentf  vous 
Tous  nourrissez  si  mal!  "  To  her.  It  was  about  the  same  as 
If  I  had  not  had  any  dinner  at  all.  To  sit  at  home  without 
a  cloth  on  the  table,  and  cut  a  pie  In  pieces  with  a  paper 
knife,  was  to  sink  one's  dignity  and  drop  to  poor  man's  fare. 

Her  thoughts,  like  those  of  most  poor  people  In  F>ance 
and  elsewhere,  centred  mostly  on  money  and  money  anx- 
ieties, on  getting  on  well  In  the  world,  or  meeting  with  ad- 
versity, and  on  how  much  this  man  or  the  other  could  earn, 
or  not  earn,  in  the  year.  Her  eldest  son  w^as  In  St.  Peters- 
burg, and  he  was  doing  right  well ;  he  was  good  and  kind 
and  sent  his  mother  help  when  he  had  a  little  to  spare.  He 
had  promised,  too,  to  take  charge  of  his  next  brother.  But 
she  had  much  anxiety  about  the  little  ones.  One  of  them 
was  not  turning  out  all  that  he  should  be,  and  there  were 
the  two  youngest  to  educate. 

There  was  a  charming  celebration  In  the  poor 
home  when  little  Emma  went  to  her  first  communion,  dressed 
all  In  white,  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  long  white  veil  and 
white  shoes,  and  several  other  little  girls  and  boys  came 
just  as  smartly  dressed,  and  presents  were  given  and  good 
wishes  offered.  Little  Henri  looked  more  Innocent  than  any 
of  the  little  girls. 

Victorine  had  a  friend  whom  she  deemed  most  happy; 
this  was  Jules  Claretie's  mother,  for,  young  though  her  son 


26o  REMINISCENCES 

was,  he  wrote  in  the  papers,  wrote  books,  too,  and  earned 
money,  so  that  he  was  able  to  maintain  his  mother  altogether. 
He  was  a  young  man  who  ought  to  be  held  in  high  estima- 
tion, an  author  who  was  all  that  he  should  be.  There  was 
another  author  whom  she  detested,  and  that  was  P.  L. 
Moller,  the  Dane: 

"  Jacques,  as  you  know,  was  always  a  faithful  friend  of 
Monsieur  Moller;  he  copied  out  a  whole  book  for  him,^ 
when  he  himself  was  very  busy.  But  then  when  Jacques 
died — pau'vre  liomnie! — he  came  and  paid  visits  much  too 
often  and  always  at  more  and  more  extraordinary  times,  so 
that  I  was  obliged  to  forbid  him  the  house." 


In  a  students'  hotel  near  the  Odeon,  where  a  few  Scan- 
dinavians lived,  I  became  acquainted  with  two  or  three 
young  lawyers  and  more  young  abbes  and  priests.  If 
you  went  in  when  the  company  were  at  table  in  the  dining- 
room,  the  place  rang  again  with  their  noisy  altercations. 
The  advocates  discussed  politics,  literature  and  religion  with 
such  ardour  that  the  air  positively  crackled.  They  were 
apparently  practising  to  speak  one  day  at  the  Bar  or  in  the 
Chamber.  It  was  from  surroundings  such  as  these  that 
Gambetta  emerged. 

The  young  abbes  and  priests  were  very  good  fellows, 
earnest  believers,  but  so  simple  that  conversations  with  them 
were  only  interesting  because  of  their  ignorance  and  lack  of 
understanding.  Scandinavians  in  Paris  who  knew  only  Ro- 
man Catholic  priests  from  Tartitffe  at  the  theatre,  had  very 
incorrect  conceptions  regarding  them.  Bressant  was  the 
cold,  elegant  hypocrite,  Lafontaine  the  base,  coarse,  but 
powerful  cleric,  Leroux  the  full-blooded,  red-faced,  volup- 
tuary with  fat  cheeks  and  shaking  hands,  whose  expression 
was  now  angry,  now  sickly  sweet.  Northern  Protestants 
were  very  apt  to  classify  the  black-coated  men  whom  they 
saw  in  the  streets  and  in  the  churches,  as  belonging  to  one 

•  The  Modern  Drama  in  France  and  Denmark,  which  won  the  University 
Gold  Medal  for  Moller. 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  261 

of  these  three  types.  But  my  ecclesiastical  acquaintances 
were  as  free  from  hypocrisy  as  from  fanaticism.  They 
were  good,  honest  children  of  the  conmionalty,  with,  not  the 
cunning,  but  the  stupidity,  of  peasants. 

Many  a  day  1  spent  exploring  the  surroundings  of  Paris 
in  their  company.  We  went  to  St.  Cloud  and  Sevres,  to 
Versailles  and  St.  CJermain,  to  Saint  Denis,  to  Montmorency 
and  Enghien,  or  to  Monthlery,  a  village  with  an  old  tower 
from  the  thirteenth  century,  and  then  breakfasted  at  Long- 
jumeau,  celebrated  for  its  postillion.  There  Abbe  Leboul- 
leux  declared  himself  opposed  to  cremation,  for  the  reason 
that  it  rendered  the  resurrection  impossible,  since  God  him- 
self could  not  collect  the  bones  again  when  the  body  had 
been  burnt.  It  was  all  so  amiable  that  one  did  not  like 
to  contradict  him.  At  the  same  meal  another  was  giving 
a  sketch  of  the  youth  of  Martin  Luther;  he  left  the  church 
— on  se  demande  encore  pourquoi.  In  the  innocence  of  his 
heart  this  abbe  regarded  the  rebellion  of  Luther  less  as  an 
unpermissible  than  as  an  inexplicable  act. 

XI. 

The  society  of  the  Italian  friends  of  my  first  visit  gave 
me  much  pleasure.  My  first  call  at  the  Pagellas'  was  a  blank; 
at  the  next,  I  was  received  like  a  son  of  the  house  and  heaped 
with  reproaches  for  not  having  left  my  address;  they  had 
tried  to  find  me  at  my  former  hotel,  and  endeavoured  in  vain 
to  learn  where  I  was  staying  from  Scandinavians  w^hom  they 
knew  by  name;  now  I  was  to  spend  all  the  time  I  could  with 
them,  as  I  used  to  do  in  the  old  days.  They  were  delighted 
to  see  me  again,  and  when  I  wished  to  leave,  drove  me  home 
in  their  carriage.  I  resumed  my  former  habit  of  spending 
the  greater  part  of  my  spare  time  with  Southerners;  once 
more  T  was  transported  to  Southern  Europe  and  South 
America.  The  very  first  day  I  dined  at  their  house  I  met  a 
jovial  old  Spaniard,  a  young  Italian,  who  w^as  settled  in 
Egypt,  and  a  very  coquettish  young  Brazilian  girl.  The 
Spaniard,  who  had  been  born  in  Venezuela,  was  an  engineer 
who  had  studied  conditions  in  Panama  for  eleven  years,  and 


262  REMINISCENCES 

had  a  plan  for  the  cutting  of  the  Isthmus.  He  talked  a  great 
deal  about  the  project,  which  Lesseps  took  up  many  years 
afterwards. 

Pagella,  too,  was  busy  with  practical  plans,  setting  him- 
self technical  problems,  and  solving  them.  Thus  he  had  dis- 
covered a  new  method  of  constructing  railway  carriages  on 
springs,  with  a  mechanism  to  prevent  collisions.  He  chris- 
tened this  the  Firginie-ressort,  after  his  wife,  and  had  had 
offers  for  it  from  the  Russian  government. 

An  Italian  engineer,  named  Casellini,  who  had  carried 
out  the  construction  for  him,  was  one  of  the  many  bold  ad- 
venturers that  one  met  with  among  the  Southerners  in  Paris. 
He  had  been  sent  to  Spain  the  year  before  by  Napoleon  III 
to  direct  the  counter-revolution  there.  Being  an  engineer, 
he  knew  the  whole  country,  and  had  been  in  constant  com- 
munication with  Queen  Isabella  and  the  Spanish  Court  in 
Paris.  He  gave  illuminating  accounts  of  Spanish  corrupti- 
bility. He  had  bribed  the  telegraph  officials  in  the  South 
of  Spain,  where  he  was,  and  saw  all  political  telegrams  before 
the  Governor  of  the  place.  In  Malaga,  where  he  was  lead- 
ing the  movement  against  the  Government,  he  very  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  shot;  he  had  been  arrested,  his  de- 
spatches intercepted  and  1,500  rifles  seized,  but  he  bribed 
the  officials  to  allow  him  to  make  selection  from  the  de- 
spatches and  destroy  those  that  committed  him.  In  Madrid 
he  had  had  an  audience  of  Serrano,  after  this  latter 
had  forbidden  the  transmission  from  the  town  of  any  tele- 
grams that  were  not  government  telegrams;  he  had  taken 
with  him  a  telegram  drawn  up  by  the  French  party,  which 
sounded  like  an  ordinary  business  letter,  and  secured  its  be- 
ing sent  off  together  with  the  government  despatches.  Cas- 
ellini had  WMshed  to  pay  for  the  telegram,  but  Serrano  had 
dismissed  the  suggestion  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  rung  a 
bell  and  given  the  telegram  to  a  servant.  It  was  just  as  in 
Scribe's  Queen  Marguerite's  Novels,  the  commission  was 
executed  by  the  enemy  himself. 

Such  romantic  adventures  did  not  seem  to  be  rare 
in  Spain.  Prim  himself  had  told  the  Pagellas  how  at  the 
time  of  the  failure  of  the  first  insurrection  he  had  always, 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  263 

in  his  flight,  (in  spite  of  his  defective  education,  he  was  more 
magnanimous  and  noble-minded  than  any  l<.ing),  provided 
for  the  soldiers  who  were  sent  out  after  him,  ordered  food 
and  drink  for  them  in  every  inn  he  vacated,  and  paid  for 
everything  beforehand,  whereas  the  Government  let  their 
poor  soldiers  starve  as  soon  as  they  were  eight  or  ten  miles 
from  Madrid. 

I  often  met  a  very  queer,  distinguished  looking  old  Span- 
iard named  Don  Jose  Guell  y  Rente,  who  had  been  married 
to  a  sister  of  King  Francis,  the  husband  of  King  Isabella,  but 
had  been  separated  from  her  after,  as  he  declared,  she  had 
tried  to  cut  his  throat.  As  witness  to  his  connubial  difficul- 
ties, he  showed  a  large  scar  across  his  throat.  He  was  well- 
read  and,  amongst  other  things,  enthusiastically  admired 
Scandinavian  literature  because  it  had  produced  the  world's 
greatest  poet,  Ossian,  with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted 
in  Cesarotti's  Italian  translation.  It  was  useless  to  attempt 
to  explain  to  him  the  difference  between  Scandinavia  and 
Scotland.     They  are  both  In  the  North,  he  would  reply. 

XII. 

A  young  American  named  Olcott,  who  visited  Chasles 
and  occasionally  looked  me  up,  brought  with  him  a  breath 
from  the  universities  of  the  great  North  American  Repub- 
lic. A  young  German,  Dr.  Goldschmidt,  a  distinguished 
Sanscrit  scholar,  a  man  of  more  means  than  I,  who  had 
a  pretty  flat  w^ith  a  view  over  the  Place  du  Chatelet,  and  dined 
at  good  restaurants,  came,  as  it  were,  athwart  the  many  im- 
pressions I  had  received  of  Romance  nature  and  Ro- 
mance intellectual  life,  w^ith  his  violent  German  national 
feeling  and  his  thorough  knowledge.  As  early  as  the 
Spring,  he  believed  there  would  be  war  between  Germany 
and  France  and  wished  in  that  event  to  be  a  soldier,  as  all 
other  German  students,  so  he  declared,  passionately  wished. 
He  was  a  powerfully  built,  energetic,  well-informed  man  of 
the  world,  with  something  of  the  rich  man's  habit  of  com- 
mand.    He  seemed  destined  to  long  life  and  quite  able  to 


264  REMINISCENCES 

stand  fatigue.  Nevertheless,  his  life  was  short.  He  went 
through  the  whole  of  the  war  In  France  without  a  scratch, 
after  the  conclusion  of  peace  was  appointed  professor  of 
Sanscrit  at  the  University  of  conquered  Strasburg,  but  died 
of  illness  shortly  afterwards. 

A  striking  contrast  to  his  reticent  nature  was  afforded 
by  the  young  Frenchmen  of  the  same  age  whom  I  often  met. 
A  very  rich  and  very  enthusiastic  young  man,  Marc  de  Ros- 
sleny,  was  a  kind  of  leader  to  them;  he  had  200,000  francs 
a  year,  and  with  this  money  had  founded  a  weekly  publica- 
tion called  "  U Impartial,"  as  a  common  organ  for  the  stu- 
dents of  Brussels  and  Paris.  The  paper's  name,  L'lmpar- 
lial,  must  be  understood  in  the  sense  that  it  admitted  the  ex- 
pression of  every  opinion  with  the  exception  of  defence  of 
so-called  revealed  religion.  The  editorial  staff  was  positlv- 
1st,  Mlchelet  and  Chasles  were  patrons  of  the  paper,  and  be- 
hind the  whole  stood  Victor  Hugo  as  a  kind  of  honorary 
director.  The  weekly  preached  hatred  of  the  Empire  and 
of  theology,  and  seemed  firmly  established,  yet  was  only 
one  of  the  hundred  ephemeral  papers  that  are  born  and  die 
every  day  in  the  Latin  quarter.  When  it  had  been  in  ex- 
istence a  month,  the  war  broke  out  and  swept  it  away,  like  so 
many  other  and  greater  things. 


XIII. 


Of  course  I  witnessed  all  that  was  accessible  to  me  of 
Parisian  public  life.  I  fairly  often  found  my  way,  as  I  had 
done  in  1866,  to  the  Palais  de  Justice  to  hear  the  great  advo- 
cates plead.  The  man  I  enjoyed  listening  to  most  was  Jules 
Favre,  whose  name  was  soon  to  be  on  every  one's  lips.  The 
younger  generation  admired  in  him  the  high-principled  and 
steadfast  opponent  of  the  Empire  in  the  Chamber,  and  he 
was  regarded  as  well-nigh  the  most  eloquent  man  in  France.  As 
an  advocate,  he  was  incomparable.  His  unusual  handsome- 
ness,— his  beautiful  face  under  a  helmet  of  grey  hair,  and  his 
upright  carriage, — were  great  points  in  his  favour.  His 
eloquence  was  real,  penetrating,  convincing.  Inasmuch  as  he 


SECOxXD  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  265 

piled  up  fact  upon  fact,  and  was  at  the  same  time,  as  the 
P'rench  manner  is,  dramatic,  with  large  gesticulations  that 
made  his  gown  flutter  restlessly  about  him  like  the  wings  of  a 
bat.  It  was  a  depressing  fact  that  afterwards,  as  the  Minister 
opposed  to  Bismarck,  he  was  so  unequal  to  his  position. 

I  was  present  at  the  Theatre  Francais  on  the  occasion 
of  the  unveiling  of  Ponsard's  bust.  To  the  Romanticists, 
Ponsard  was  nothing  less  than  the  ass's  jawbone  with  which 
the  Philistines  attempted  to  slay  Hugo.  But  Emile  Chaslcs, 
a  son  of  my  old  friend,  gave  a  lecture  upon  him,  and  after- 
wards Le  lion  amoureiix  was  played,  a  very  tolerable  little 
piece  from  the  Revolutionary  period,  in  which,  for  one  thing, 
Napoleon  appears  as  a  young  man.  There  are  some  very  fine 
revolutionary  tirades  in  it,  of  which  Princess  Mathilde,  after 
its  first  representation,  said  that  they  made  her  Republican 
heart  palpitate.  The  ceremony  in  honor  of  this  little  anti- 
pope  to  Victor  Hugo  was  quite  a  pretty  one. 

Once,  too,  I  received  a  ticket  for  a  reception  at  the 
French  Academy.  The  poet  Auguste  Barbier  was  being 
inaugurated  and  Silvestre  de  Sacy  welcomed  him,  in  aca- 
demic fashion,  in  a  fairly  indiscreet  speech.  Barbier's  J  amber 
was  one  of  the  books  of  poems  that  I  had  loved  for  years,  and 
I  knew  many  of  the  strophes  by  heart,  for  instance,  the  cele- 
brated ones  on  Freedom  and  on  Napoleon ;  I  had  also  noticed 
how  Barbier's  vigour  had  subsided  in  subsequent  collections 
of  poems;  in  reality,  he  was  still  living  on  his  reputation  from 
the  year  1831,  and  without  a  doubt  most  people  believed  him 
to  be  dead.  And  now  there  he  stood,  a  shrivelled  old  man  in 
his  Palm  uniform,  his  speech  revealing  neither  satiric  power 
nor  lofty  intellect.  It  was  undoubtedly  owing  to  his  detesta- 
tion of  Napoleon  {vide  his  poem  L'ldole)  that  the  Academy, 
who  were  always  agitating  against  the  Empire,  had  now,  so 
late  in  the  day,  cast  their  eyes  upon  him.  Bald  little  Silvestre 
de  Sacy,  the  tiny  son  of  an  important  father,  reproached  him 
for  his  verses  on  Freedom,  as  the  bold  woman  of  the  people 
who  was  not  afraid  to  shed  blood. 

"  That  is  not  Freedom  as  I  understand  it,"  piped  the 
little  man, — and  one  believed  him, — but  could  not  refrain 
from  murmuring  with  the  poet: 


266  REMINISCENCES 

C'est  que  la  Liberie  n'est  pas  une  comtesse 

Du  noble  Faubourg  St.  Germain, 

Une  femme  qu'un  cri  fait  tomber  en  faiblesse. 

Qui  met  du  blanc  et  du  carmin; 

C'est  une  forte  femme. 


XIV. 

A  very  instructive  resort,  even  for  a  layman,  was  the 
Record  Office,  for  there  one  could  run  through  the  whole  his- 
tory of  France  in  the  most  entertaining  manner  with  the 
help  of  the  manuscripts  placed  on  view,  from  the  most  an- 
cient papyrus  rolls  to  the  days  of  parchment  and  paper. 
You  saw  the  documents  of  the  Feudal  Lords'  and  Priests' 
Conspiracies  under  the  Merovingians  and  the  Capets,  the 
decree  of  divorce  between  Philip  Augustus  and  Ingeborg,  and 
letters  from  the  most  notable  personages  of  the  Middle  Ages 
and  the  autocracy.  The  period  of  the  Revolution  and  the 
First  Empire  came  before  one  with  especial  vividness.  There 
was  Charlemagne's  monogram  stencilled  in  tin,  and  that  of 
Robert  of  Paris,  reproduced  in  the  same  manner,  those  of 
Louis  XIV.  and  Moliere,  of  Francis  the  Catholic  and  Mary 
Stuart.  There  were  letters  from  Robespierre  and  Danton, 
requests  for  money  and  death-warrants  from  the  Reign  of 
Terror,  Charlotte  Corday's  last  letters  from  prison  and  the 
original  letters  of  Napoleon  from  St.  Llelena. 

In  June  I  saw  the  annual  races  at  Longchamps  for  the 
first  time.  Great  was  the  splendour.  From  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  to  six  there  was  an  uninterrupted  stream  of 
carriages,  five  or  six  abreast,  along  the  Champs  Elysees; 
there  were  thousands  of  lorettes  (as  they  were  called  at  that 
time)  in  light  silk  gowns,  covered  with  diamonds  and  pre- 
cious stones,  in  carriages  decorated  with  flowers.  Coach- 
men and  footmen  wore  powdered  wigs,  white  or  grey,  silk 
stockings  and  knee-breeches  and  a  flower  in  the  button- 
hole matching  the  colour  of  their  livery  and  the  flowers 
which  hung  about  the  horses'  ears.  Some  of  the  carriages 
had  no  coachman's  box  or  driver,  but  were  harnessed  to  four 
horses  ridden  by  postillions  in  green  satin  or  scarlet  velvet, 
with  white  feathers  in  their  caps. 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  267 

The  only  great  demi-mondaine  of  whom  I  had  hitherto 
caught  a  ghmpse  was  the  renowned  Madame  de  PaiVa,  who 
had  a  little  palace  by  the  side  of  the  house  in  which  Frolich 
the  painter  lived,  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  Her  connection 
with  Count  Henckel  v.  Donnersmark  permitted  her  to  sur- 
round herself  with  regal  magnificence,  and,  to  the  indig- 
nation of  Princess  Mathilde,  men  like  Gautier  and  Renan, 
Sainte-Beuve  and  Goncourt,  Saint-Victor  and  Taine,  sat  at 
her  table.  The  ladies  here  were  younger  and  prettier,  but 
socially  of  lower  rank.  The  gentlemen  went  about 
among  the  carriages,  said  ///  without  any  preamble  to 
the  women,  and  squeezed  their  hands,  while  their  men- 
servants  sat  stolid,  like  wood,  seeming  neither  to  hear 
nor  see. 

This  race-day  was  the  last  under  the  Empire.  It  is  the 
one  described  in  Zola's  Nana.  The  prize  for  the  third  race 
was  100,000  francs.  After  English  horses  had  been  victo- 
rious for  several  years  in  succession,  the  prize  was  carried  off 
in  1870 — as  in  Nana — by  a  native-born  horse,  and  the  jubi- 
lation was  great;  It  was  a  serious  satisfaction  to  national 
vanity. 

At  that  time,  the  Tulleries  were  still  standing,  and  I 
was  fond  of  walking  about  the  gardens  near  closing  time, 
when  the  guard  beat  the  drums  to  turn  the  people  out.  It 
was  pleasant  to  hear  the  rolling  of  the  drums,  which  were 
beaten  by  two  of  the  Grenadier  Guard  drummers  and  a 
Turco.  Goldschmldt  had  already  written  his  clever  and 
linguistically  very  fine  piece  of  prose  about  this  rolling  of 
the  drums  and  what  It  possibly  presaged:  Napoleon's  own 
expulsion  from  the  Tulleries  and  the  humiliation  of  French 
grandeur  before  the  Prussians,  who  might  one  day  come  and 
drum  this  grandeur  out.  But  Goldschmldt  had  disfigured 
the  pretty  little  piece  somewhat  by  relating  that  one  day 
when,  for  an  experiment,  he  had  tried  to  make  his  way  into 
the  gardens  after  the  signal  for  closing  had  sounded,  the 
Zouave  had  carelessly  levelled  his  bayonet  at  him  with  the 
words:  "  A^^  fa'ues  pas  des  hetises!"  This  levelling  of  the 
bayonet  on  such  trivial  provocation  was  too  tremendous,  so  I 
made  up  my  mind  one  evening  to  try  myself.     The  soldier 


268  REMINISCENCES 

on  guard  merely  remarked  politely :     "  Ferme,  monsieur,  on 
va  sortir." 

I  little  dreamed  that  only  a  few  months  later  the  Em- 
press would  steal  secretly  out  of  the  palace,  having  lost  her 
crown,  and  still  less  that  only  six  months  afterwards,  dur- 
ing the  civil  war,  the  Tuileries  would  be  reduced  to  ashes, 
never  to  rise  again. 

XV. 

At  that  time  the  eyes  of  the  Danes  were  fixed  upon 
France  in  hope  and  expectation  that  their  national  resusci- 
tation would  come  from  that  quarter,  and  they  made  no  dis- 
tinction between  France  and  the  Empire.  Although  the 
shortest  visit  to  Paris  was  sufficient  to  convince  a  foreigner 
not  only  that  the  personal  popularity  of  the  Emperor  was 
long  since  at  an  end,  but  that  the  whole  government  was  de- 
spised, In  Denmark  people  did  not,  and  would  not,  know  It. 
In  the  Danish  paper  with  the  widest  circulation,  the  Dally 
Paper,  foreign  affairs  were  dealt  with  by  a  man  of  the  name 
of  Prahl,  a  wildly  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  Empire,  a  pleas- 
ant man  and  a  brainy,  but  who,  on  this  vital  point,  seemed 
to  have  blinkers  on.  From  all  his  numerous  foreign  papers, 
he  deduced  only  the  opinions  that  he  held  before,  and  his 
opinions  were  solely  Influenced  by  his  wishes.  He  had  never 
had  any  opportunity  of  procuring  Information  at  first  hand. 
He  said  to  me  one  day  ; 

"  I  am  accused  of  allowing  my  views  to  be  influenced  by 
the  foreign  diplomatists  here,  I,  who  have  never  spoken  to 
one  of  them.  I  can  honestly  boast  of  being  unacquainted 
with  even  the  youngest  attache  of  the  Portuguese  Ministry." 
His  remarks,  which  sufficiently  revealed  this  fact,  unfortu- 
nately struck  the  keynote  of  the  talk  of  the  political  wise- 
acres In  Denmark. 

Though  the  Danes  were  so  full  of  the  French,  It  would  be  a 
pity  to  say  that  the  latter  returned  the  compliment.  It 
struck  me  then,  as  It  must  have  struck  many  others,  how  dif- 
ficult it  was  to  make  people  In  France  understand  that  Danes 
and  Norsemen  were  not  Germans.     From  the  roughest  to 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  269 

the  most  highly  educated,  they  all  looked  upon  it  as  an  un- 
derstood thing,  and  you  could  not  persuade  them  of  anything 
else.  As  soon  as  they  had  heard  Northerners  exchange  a 
few  words  with  each  other  and  had  picked  up  the  frequently 
recurring  Ja,  they  were  sufficiently  edified.  Even  many 
years  after,  I  caught  the  most  highly  cultured  Frenchmen 
(such  as  Edmond  de  Goncourt) ,  believing  that,  at  any  rate  on 
the  stage,  people  spoke  German  in  Copenhagen. 

One  day  in  June  I  began  chatting  on  an  omnibus  with 
a  corporal  of  Grenadiers.  When  he  heard  that  I  was  Dan- 
ish, he  remarked:  "German,  then."  I  said:  "No." 
He  persisted  in  his  assertion,  and  asked,  cunningly,  what  ou'i 
was  In  Danish.  When  I  told  him  he  merely  replied,  philo- 
sophically, "Ah!  then  German  is  the  mother  tongue."  It 
is  true  that  when  Danes,  Norwegians  and  Swedes  met  abroad 
they  felt  each  other  to  be  compatriots;  but  this  did  not  pre- 
vent them  all  being  classed  together  as  Germans;  that  they 
were  not  Englishmen,  you  saw  at  a  glance.  Even  when 
there  were  several  of  them  together,  they  had  difficulty  in 
asserting  themselves  as  different  and  Independent;  they  were 
a  Germanic  race  all  the  same,  and  people  often  added,  "  of 
second-class  importance,"  since  the  race  had  other  more  pro- 
nounced representatives. 

The  only  strong  expression  of  political  opinion  that 
was  engineered  in  France  then  was  the  so-called  plebiscite  of 
May,  1870;  the  government  challenged  the  verdict  of  the 
entire  male  population  of  P'rance  upon  the  policy  of  Napo- 
leon III.  during  the  past  eighteen  years,  and  did  so  with  the 
intention,  strangely  enough  not  perceived  by  Prime  Minister 
Ollivier,  of  re-convertIng  the  so-called  constitutional  Empire 
which  had  been  in  existence  since  January  i,  1870,  into  an 
autocracy.  Sensible  people  saw  that  the  plebiscite  was  only 
an  objectionable  comedy;  a  favourable  reply  would  be  ob- 
tained all  over  the  country  by  means  of  pressure  on  the  voters 
and  falsification  of  votes;  the  oppositionist  papers  showed 
this  up  boldly  in  articles  that  were  sheer  gems  of  wit.  Dis- 
turbances were  expected  in  Paris  on  the  9th  of  May,  and 
here  and  there  troops  were  collected.  But  the  Parisians, 
who  saw  through  the  farce,  remained  perfectly  indifferent. 


-70  REMINISCENCES 

The  decision  turned  out  as  had  been  expected;  the  huge  ma- 
jority in  Paris  was  against,  the  provincial  population  voted 
for,  the  Emperor. 

XVI. 

On  July  5th  I  saw  John  Stuart  Mill  for  the  first  time. 
He  had  arrived  in  Paris  the  night  before,  passing  through 
from  Avignon,  and  paid  a  visit  to  me,  unannounced,  in  my 
room  in  the  Rue  Mazarine;  he  stayed  two  hours  and  won 
my  affections  completely.  I  was  a  little  ashamed  to  receive 
so  great  a  man  in  so  poor  a  place,  but  more  proud  of  his 
thinking  it  worth  his  while  to  make  my  acquaintance.  None 
of  the  French  savants  had  ever  had  an  opportunity  of  con- 
versing with  him ;  a  few  days  before,  Renan  had  lamented 
to  me  that  he  had  never  seen  him.  As  Mill  had  no  personal 
acquaintances  in  Paris,  I  was  the  only  person  he  called  upon. 

To  talk  to  him  was  a  new  experience.  The  first  char- 
acteristic that  struck  me  was  that  whereas  the  French  writers 
were  all  assertiv^e,  he  listened  attentively  to  counter-argu- 
ments; it  was  only  when  his  attitude  in  the  woman  question 
was  broached  that  he  would  not  brook  contradiction  and 
overwhelmed  his  adversaries  with  contempt. 

At  that  time  Mill  was  without  any  doubt,  among  Eu- 
rope's distinguished  men,  the  greatest  admirer  of  French 
history  and  French  intellectual  life  to  be  found  outside 
of  France;  but  he  was  of  quite  a  different  type  from  the 
French,  even  from  those  I  esteemed  most  highly.  The  lat- 
ter were  comprehensive-minded  men,  bold  and  weighty,  like 
Taine,  or  cold  and  agile  like  Renan,  but  they  were  men  of  in- 
tellect and  thought,  only  having  no  connection  with  the  prac- 
tical side  of  life.  They  were  not  adapted  to  personal  ac- 
tion, felt  no  inclination  to  direct  Interference. 

Mill  was  different.  Although  he  was  more  of  a  thinker 
than  any  of  them,  his  boldness  was  not  of  the  merely  theo- 
retic kind.  He  wished  to  Interfere  and  re-model.  None  of 
those  Frenchmen  lacked  firmness;  If,  from  any  consideration, 
they  modified  their  utterances  somewhat,  their  fundamental 
views,  at  any  rate,  were  formed  Independently;  but  their  firm- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  271 

ness  lay  in  defence,  not  in  attack;  they  wished  neither  to  re- 
buke nor  to  Instigate;  their  place  was  the  lecturer's  platform, 
rather  than  the  tribune.  Mill's  firmness  was  of  another  kind, 
hard  as  steel;  both  in  character  and  expression  he  was  relent- 
less, and  he  went  to  work  aggressively.  He  was  armed,  not 
with  a  cuirass,  but  a  glaive. 

Thus  in  him  I  met,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  a  figure 
who  was  the  incarnation  of  the  ideal  I  had  drawn  for  myself 
of  the  great  man.  This  ideal  had  two  sides;  talent  and 
character:  great  capacities  and  inflexibility.  The  men  of 
great  reputation  whom  I  had  met  hitherto,  artists  and  sci- 
entists, were  certainly  men  richly  endowed  with  talents;  but 
I  had  never  hitherto  encountered  a  personality  combining 
talents  with  gifts  of  character.  Shortly  before  leaving  home, 
I  had  concluded  the  preface  to  a  collection  of  criticisms  with 
these  words:  *'  My  watchword  has  been:  "  As  flexible  as 
possible,  when  it  is  a  question  of  understanding,  as  inflexible 
as  possible,  when  it  is  a  question  of  speaking,"  and  I  had 
regarded  this  watchword  as  more  than  the  motto  of  a  little 
literary  criticism.  Now  I  had  met  a  grand  inflexibility  of 
ideas  in  human  form,  and  was  impressed  for  my  whole  life 
long. 

Unadapted  though  I  was  by  nature  to  practical  politics, 
or  in  fact  to  any  activity  save  that  of  ideas,  I  was  far 
from  regarding  myself  as  mere  material  for  a  scholar,  an 
entertaining  author,  a  literary  historian,  or  the  like.  I 
thought  myself  naturally  fitted  to  be  a  man  of  action.  But 
the  men  of  action  I  had  hitherto  met  had  repelled  me  by 
their  lack  of  a  leading  principle.  The  so-called  practical 
men  at  home,  lawyers  and  parliamentarians,  were  not  men 
who  had  made  themselves  masters  of  any  fund  of  new 
thoughts  that  they  wished  to  reduce  to  practical  effect;  they 
were  dexterous  people,  well-Informed  of  conditions  at  their 
elbow,  not  thinkers,  and  they  only  placed  an  Immediate  goal 
in  front  of  themselves.  In  Mill  I  learnt  at  last  to  know  a 
man  in  whom  the  power  of  action,  disturbance,  and  accom- 
plishment were  devoted  to  the  service  of  modern  sociological 
thought. 

He  was  then  sixty-four  years  old,  but  his  skin  was  as 


272  REMINISCENCES 

fresh  and  clear  as  a  child's,  his  deep  blue  eyes  young.  He 
stammered  a  little,  and  nervous  twitches  frequently  shot  over 
his  face;  but  there  was  a  sublime  nobility  about  him. 

To  prolong  the  conversation,  I  offered  to  accompany 
him  to  the  Windsor  Hotel,  where  he  was  staying,  and  we 
walked  the  distance.  As  I  really  had  intended  to  go  over 
to  England  at  about  that  time.  Mill  proposed  my  crossing 
with  him.  I  refused,  being  afraid  of  abusing  his  kindness, 
but  was  invited  to  visit  him  frequently  when  I  was  in  Eng- 
land, which  I  did  not  fail  to  do.  A  few  days  afterwards  I 
was  in  London. 

XVII. 

My  French  acquaintances  all  said  the  same  thing,  when 
I  told  them  I  wanted  to  go  over  to  England:  "  What  on 
earth  do  you  want  there?  "  Though  only  a  few  hours'  jour- 
ney from  England,  they  had  never  felt  the  least  curiosity  to 
see  the  country.  "  And  London !  It  was  said  to  be  a  very 
dull  city;  it  was  certainly  not  worth  putting  one's  self  out 
to  go  there."  Or  else  it  was :  "  If  you  are  going  to  London,  be 
careful!  London  is  full  of  thieves  and  rascals;  look  Vv^ell 
to  your  pockets  !  " 

Only  a  few  days  later,  the  Parisians  were  shaken  out 
of  their  calm,  without,  however,  being  shaken  out  of  their 
self-satisfaction.  The  Due  de  Grammont's  speech  on  the 
6th  of  July,  which  amounted  to  the  statement  that  France 
was  not  going  to  stand  any  Hohenzollern  on  the  throne  of 
Spain,  made  the  people  fancy  themselves  deeply  offended 
by  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  a  current  of  martial  exaspera- 
tion ran  through  the  irritable  and  misled  people,  who  for 
four  years  had  felt  themselves  humiliated  by  Prussia's  strong 
position.  All  said  and  believed  that  in  a  week  there  would 
be  war,  and  on  both  sides  everything  was  so  ordered  that 
there  might  be.  There  was  still  hope  that  common  sense 
might  get  the  better  of  warlike  madness  in  the  French  Gov- 
ernment; but  this  much  was  clear,  there  was  going  to  be  a 
sudden  downfall  of  everything. 

Between  Dover  and  Calais  the  waves  beat  over  the  ship. 
From  Dover,  the  train  went  at  a  speed  of  sixty  miles  an  hour, 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      273 

and  made  one  think  him  a  great  man  who  invented  the 
locomotive,  as  great  as  Aristotle  and  Plato  together.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  John  Stuart  Mill  was  that  kind  of  man. 
He  opened,  not  roads,  but  railroads;  his  books  were  like 
iron  rails,  unadorned,  but  useful,  leading  to  their  goal.  And 
what  will  there  was  in  the  English  locomotive  that  drew  our 
tram, — like  the  driving  instinct  of  r^ngland's  character! 

Two  things  struck  me  on  my  journey  across,  a  type  of 
mechanical  Protestant  religiosity  which  was  new  to  me,  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  two  languages  along  the  coasts.  A 
pleasant  English  doctor  with  whom  I  got  into  conversation 
sat  reading  steadily  in  a  little  Gospel  of  St.  John  that  he 
carried  with  him,  yawning  as  he  read.  The  seamen  on  the 
ship  and  the  coast  dwellers  both  in  England  and  France  spoke 
English  and  French  with  about  equal  ease.  It  is  probably 
the  same  in  all  border  countries,  but  it  occurred  to  me  that 
what  came  about  here  quite  naturally  w\\\  m  time  be  a  possi- 
bility all  over  the  world,  namely,  the  mastery  of  a  second  and 
common  language,  in  addition  to  a  people's  own. 

I  drove  into  London  through  a  sea  of  houses.  When 
I  had  engaged  a  room,  changed  my  clothes,  and  written  a 
letter  that  I  wanted  to  send  off  at  once,  the  eighteen-year-old 
girl  who  waited  on  me  informed  me  that  no  letters  were 
accepted  on  Sundays.  As  I  had  some  little  difficulty  in  mak- 
ing out  what  she  said,  I  supposed  she  had  misunderstood  my 
question  and  thought  I  wanted  to  speak  to  the  post-official. 
For  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  idea  that  even  the  letter- 
boxes had  to  enjoy  their  Sabbath  rest.  But  I  found  she  was 
right.  At  the  post-office,  even  the  letter-box  was  shut,  as  it 
was  Sunday;  1  was  obliged  to  put  my  letter  in  a  pillar-box  in 
the  street. 

In  Paris  the  Summer  heat  had  been  oppressive.  In 
London,  to  my  surprise,  the  weather  w^as  fresh  and  cool,  the 
air  as  light  as  it  Is  In  Denmark  In  Autumn.  My  first  visit 
was  to  the  Greek  and  Assyrian  collections  In  the  British  Mu- 
seum. In  the  Kensington  Museum  and  the  Crystal  Palace 
at  Sydenham,  I  added  to  my  knowledge  of  Michael  Angelo, 
to  whom  T  felt  drawn  by  a  mighty  affection.  The  admira- 
tion for  his  art  which  was  to  endure  undiminished  all  my  life 


274  REMINISCENCES 

was  even  then  profound.  T  early  felt  that  although  Mi- 
chael Angelo  had  his  human  weaknesses  and  limitations,  in- 
tellectually and  as  an  artist  he  is  one  of  the  five  or  six  elect 
the  world  has  produced,  and  scarcely  any  other  great  man 
has  made  such  an  impression  on  my  inner  life  as  he. 

In  the  British  Museum  I  was  accosted  by  a  young  Dane 
with  whom  I  had  sometimes  ridden  out  in  the  days  of  my 
riding  lessons;  this  was  Carl  Bech,  now  a  landed  proprietor, 
and  in  his  company  I  saw  many  of  the  sights  of  London  and 
its  environs.  He  knew  more  English  than  I,  and  could 
find  his  way  anywhere.  That  the  English  are  rigid  In 
their  conventions,  he  learnt  one  day  to  his  discomfort;  he 
had  put  on  a  pair  of  white  trousers,  and  as  this  was  opposed 
to  the  usual  precedent  and  displeased,  we  were  stared  at 
by  every  man,  woman  and  child  we  met,  as  if  the  young  man 
had  gone  out  in  his  underclothing.  I  had  a  similar  experience 
one  day  as  I  was  walking  about  the  National  Gallery  with 
a  young  German  lady  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made.  An 
Englishwoman  stopped  her  in  one  of  the  rooms  to  ask: 

"  Was  it  you  who  gave  up  a  check  parasol  down- 
stairs?" and  receiving  an  answer  in  the  affirmative,  she 
burst  out  laughing  in  her  face  and  went  off. 

On  July  1 6th  came  the  great  daily-expected  news.  War 
was  declared,  and  in  face  of  this  astounding  fact  and  all  the 
possibilities  it  presented,  people  were  struck  dumb.  The  ef- 
fect it  had  upon  me  personally  was  that  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  return  as  soon  as  possible  to  France,  to  watch  the  move- 
ment there.  In  London,  where  Napoleon  III.  was  hated, 
and  in  a  measure  despised,  France  was  included  in  the  aver- 
sion felt  for  him.  Every^vhere,  when  I  was  asked  on  which 
side  my  sympathies  were,  they  broke  In  at  once:  "  We  are 
all  for  Prussia." 

XVIIT. 

As  often  as  I  could,  I  took  the  train  to  Blackheath  to 
visit  John  Stuart  Mill.  He  was  good  and  great,  and  I  felt 
myself  exceedingly  attracted  by  his  greatness.  There  were 
fundamental  features  of  his  thought  and  mode  of  feeling  that 
coincided  with   inclinations   of  my   own;   for  instance,   the 


SECOxXD   LONGER  STAY   AIIKOAD  275 

Utilitarian  theory,  as  founded  by  Bentham  and  his  father 
and  developed  by  him.  I  had  written  in  1868  :  "  What  we 
crave  is  no  longer  to  flee  from  society  and  reality  with  our 
thoughts  and  desires.  On  the  contrary,  we  wish  to  put  our 
ideas  into  practice  in  society  and  life.  That  we  may  not 
become  a  nation  of  poetasters,  we  will  simply  strive  towards 
actuality,  the  definite  goal  of  Utility,  which  the  past  genera- 
tion mocked  at.  Who  would  not  be  glad  to  be  even  so  little 
useful?" 

Thus  I  found  myself  mentally  in  a  direction  that  led 
me  towards  Mill,  and  through  many  years'  study  of  Comte 
and  Littre,  through  an  acquaintance  with  Mill's  correspond- 
ence with  Comte,  I  was  prepared  for  philosophical  conver- 
sations concerning  the  fundamental  thoughts  of  empiric  phi- 
losophy as  opposed  to  speculative  philosophy,  conversations 
which,  on  Mill's  part,  tended  to  represent  my  entire  Univer- 
sity philosophical  education  at  Copenhagen  as  valueless  and 
wrong. 

But  what  drew  me  the  most  strongly  to  Mill  was 
not  similarity  of  thought,  but  the  feeling  of  an  opposed  rela- 
tionship. All  my  life  I  had  been  afraid  of  going  further  in 
a  direction  towards  which  I  inclined.  I  had  always  had  a 
passionate  desire  to  perfect  my  nature — to  make  good  my  de- 
fects. Julius  Lange  was  so  much  to  me  because  he 
was  so  unlike  me.  Now  I  endeavoured  to  understand  Mill's 
nature  and  make  it  my  own,  because  it  was  foreign  to  mine. 
By  so  doing  I  was  only  obeying  an  inner  voice  that  perpetually 
urged  me.  When  others  about  me  had  plunged  into  a  subject, 
a  language,  a  period,  they  continued  to  wrestle  with  it  to  all 
eternity,  made  the  thing  their  speciality.  That  I  had  a  hor- 
ror of.  I  knew  French  well;  but  for  fear  of  losing  myself  in 
French  literature,  which  I  could  easily  illustrate,  I  was  always 
wrestling  with  English  or  German,  which  presented  greater 
difficulties  to  me,  but  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  grow  nar- 
row. 1  had  the  advantage  over  the  European  reading  world 
that  I  knew  the  Northern  languages,  but  nothing  was  further 
from  my  thoughts  than  to  limit  myself  to  opening  up  North- 
ern literature  to  luirope.  Thus  it  came  about  that  when  the 
time  in  my  life  arrived  that  I  felt  compelled  to  settle  outside 


2'j6  REMINISCENCES 

Denmark  I  chose  for  my  place  of  residence  Berlin,  the  city 
with  which  I  had  fewest  points  in  common,  and  where  I  could 
consequently  learn  most  and  develop  myself  without  one- 
sidedness. 

Mill's  verbally  expressed  conviction  that  empiric  phi- 
losophy was  the  only  true  philosophy,  made  a  stronger  im- 
pression upon  me  than  any  assertion  of  the  kind  that  I  had 
met  with  in  printed  books.  The  results  of  empiric  philos- 
ophy seemed  to  me  much  more  firmly  based  than  those  of 
the  newer  German  philosophy.  At  variance  with  my  teach- 
ers, I  had  come  to  see  that  Hume  had  been  right  rather  than 
Kant.  But  I  could  not  conform  to  the  principle  of  empiric 
philosophy.  After  all,  our  knowledge  is  not  ultimately 
based  merely  on  experience,  but  on  that  which,  prior  to  ex- 
perience, alone  renders  experience  possible.  Otherwise  not 
even  the  propositions  of  Mathematics  can  be  universally  ap- 
plicable. In  spite  of  my  admiration  for  Mill's  philosophi- 
cal works,  I  was  obliged  to  hold  to  the  rationalistic  theory 
of  cognition;  Mill  obstinately  held  to  the  empiric.  "  Is  not  a 
reconciliation  between  the  two  possible?  "  I  said.  "  I  think 
that  one  must  choose  between  the  theories,"  replied  Mill.  I 
did  not  then  know  Herbert  Spencer's  profoundly  thoughtful 
reconciliation  of  the  teachings  of  the  two  opposing  schools. 
He  certainly  maintains,  as  does  the  English  school,  that  all 
our  Ideas  have  their  root  In  experience,  but  he  urges  at  the 
same  time,  with  the  Germans,  that  there  are  Innate  Ideas. 
The  conscious  life  of  the  individual,  that  cannot  be  under- 
stood from  the  experience  of  the  individual,  becomes  explic- 
able from  the  Inherited  experience  of  the  race.  Even  the 
Intellectual  form  which  is  the  condition  of  the  Individual's 
apprehension  Is  gradually  made  up  out  of  the  experience  of 
the  race,  and  consequently  Innate  without  for  that  reason 
being  independent  of  foregoing  experiences.  But  I  deter- 
mined at  once,  Incited  thereto  by  conversations  with  Mill,  to 
study,  not  only  his  own  works,  but  the  writings  of  James 
Mill,  Bain,  and  Herbert  Spencer;  I  would  endeavour  to  find 
out  how  much  truth  they  contained,  and  introduce  this  trutli 
Into  Denmark. 

I  was  very  much  surprised  when  Mill  Informed  me  that 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  277 

he  had  not  read  a  line  of  Hegel,  either  in  the  original  or  in 
translation,  and  regarded  the  entire  Hegelian  philosophy  as 
sterile  and  empty  sophistry.  I  mentally  confronted  this  with 
the  opinion  of  the  man  at  the  Copenhagen  University  who 
knew  the  history  of  philosophy  best,  my  teacher,  Hans  Broch- 
ner,  who  knew,  so  to  speak,  nothing  of  contemporary  Eng- 
lish and  French  philosophy,  and  did  not  think  them  worth 
studying.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  here  was  a  task  for 
one  who  understood  the  thinkers  of  the  two  directions,  w^ho 
did  not  mutually  understand  one  another. 

I  thought  that  in  philosophy,  too,  I  knew  what  I  wanted, 
and  saw  a  road  open  in  front  of  me. 

However,  I  never  tra\elled  it.  The  gift  for  abstract 
philosophical  thought  which  I  had  possessed  as  a  youth  was 
never  developed,  but  much  like  the  tendency  to  verse-making 
which  manifested  itself  even  earlier,  superseded  bv  the  histo- 
rio-critical  capacity,  which  grew  strong  in  me.  At  that  time 
I  believed  in  my  natural  bent  for  philosophy,  and  did  so  even 
in  July,  1872,  when  I  sketched  out  and  began  a  large  book: 
"  The  Association  of  Ideas,  conceived  and  put  forzvard  as  the 
fundamental  principle  of  human  knowledge''  but  the  book 
was  never  completed.  The  capacity  for  abstraction  was  too 
weak  in  me. 

Still,  if  the  capacity  had  no  independent  development, 
it  had  a  subservient  effect  on  all  my  criticism,  and  the  conver- 
sations with  Mill  had  a  fertilising  and  helpful  influence  on 
my  subsequent  intellectual  life. 

XIX. 

Some  weeks  passed  in  seeing  the  most  important  pub- 
lic buildings  in  London,  revelling  in  the  treasures  of  her 
museums  and  collections,  and  in  making  excursions  to  places 
in  the  neighbourhood  and  to  Oxford.  I  was  absorbed  by 
St.  Paul's,  saw  it  from  end  to  end,  and  from  top  to  bottom, 
stood  in  the  crypt,  where  Sir  Christopher  Wren  lies  buried, — 
Si  monunicntum  requiris,  circumspice — mentally  compared 
Wellington's  burial-place  here  with  that  of  Napoleon  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Channel,  then  went  up  to  the  top  of  the 


278  REMINISCENCES 

building  and  looked  out  to  every  side  over  London,  which  I 
was  already  so  well  acquainted  with  that  I  could  iind  my 
way  everywhere  alone,  take  the  right  omnibuses,  and  the 
right  trains  by  the  underground,  without  once  asking 
my  way.  I  spent  blissful  hours  in  the  National  Gallery. 
This  choice  collection  of  paintings,  especially  the  Italian 
ones,  afforded  me  the  intense,  overwhelming  delight  which 
poetry,  the  masterpieces  of  which  I  knew  already,  could  no 
longer  offer  me.  At  the  Crystal  Palace  I  was  fascinated  by 
the  tree-ferns,  as  tall  as  fruit-trees  with  us,  and  by  the  repro- 
ductions of  the  show  buildings  of  the  different  countries,  an 
Egyptian  temple,  a  house  from  Pompeii,  the  Lions'  den 
from  the  Alhambra.  Here,  as  everywhere,  1  sought  out  the 
Zoological  Gardens,  where  I  lingered  longest  near  the  hippo- 
potami, who  were  as  curious  to  watch  when  swimming  as 
when  they  were  on  dry  land.  Their  clumsiness  was  almost 
captivating.  They  reminded  me  of  some  of  my  enemies  at 
home. 

Oxford,  with  the  moss-grown,  ivy-covered  walls,  with 
all  the  poetry  of  conservatism,  fascinated  me  by  its  dignity 
and  its  country  freshness;  there  the  flower  of  the  English 
nature  was  expressed  in  buildings  and  trees.  The  anti- 
quated and  non-popular  instruction,  however,  repelled  me. 
And  the  old  classics  were  almost  unrecognisable  in  English 
guise,  for  instance,  the  anglicised  z-cai^  vidi,  vici,  which  was 
quoted  by  a  student. 

The  contrast  between  the  English  and  the  French  mind 
was  presented  to  me  in  all  its  force  when  I  compared  Wind- 
sor Castle  with  Versailles.  The  former  was  an  old  North- 
ern Hall,  in  which  the  last  act  of  Oehlenschliiger's  Palnatoke 
would  have  been  well  staged. 

I  saw  all  that  I  could:  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
Westminster  Hall  and  Abbey,  the  Tower  and  the  theatres, 
the  Picture  Gallery  at  Dulwich  with  Rembrandt's  Girl  at 
the  IFitidozv,  the  one  at  Hampton  Court,  with  the  portrait  of 
Loyola  ascribed  to  Titian,  sailed  down  the  river  to  Green- 
wich and  lingered  in  the  lovely  Gardens  at  Kew,  which 
gave  me  a  luxuriant  impression  of  English  scenery.  I  also 
saw  the  Queen's  model  farm.     Every  animal  was  as  splen- 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  279 

did  a  specimen  as  if  it  had  been  intended  for  an  agricultural 
show,  the  dairy  walls  were  tiled  all  over.  1  he  bailiti  re- 
gretted that  Prince  Albert,  who  had  himself  made  the  draw- 
ings for  a  special  kind  of  milk  containers,  had  not  lived  to 
see  them  made.  It  was  not  without  its  comic  aspect  to 
hear  him  inform  you  sadly,  concerning  an  old  bullock, 
that  the  Queen  herself  had  given  it  the  name  of  Prince 
Albert 

For  me,  accustomed  to  the  gay  and  grotesque  life 
deployed  in  an  evening  at  the  dancing-place  of  the  Pari- 
sian students  in  the  Closerie  des  Ulas,  it  was  instructive 
to  compare  this  with  a  low  English  dancing-house,  the 
Holborn  Casino,  which  was  merely  sad,  stiff,  and  re- 
pulsive. 

Poverty  in  London  was  very  much  more  conspicuous 
than  in  Paris;  it  spread  itself  out  in  side  streets  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  main  arteries  in  its  most  pitiable  form.  Great 
troops,  regular  mobs  of  poor  men,  women  and  children  in 
rags,  dispersed  like  ghosts  at  dawn,  fled  away  hurriedly  and 
vanished,  as  soon  as  a  policeman  approached  and  made  sign 
to  them  to  pass  on.  There  was  nothing  corresponding  to 
it  to  be  seen  in  Paris.  Crime,  too,  bore  a  very  different  as- 
pect here.  In  Paris,  it  was  decked  out  and  audacious,  but 
retained  a  certain  dignity;  here,  in  the  evening,  in 
thickly  frequented  streets,  whole  swarms  of  ugly, 
wretchedly  dressed,  half  or  wholly  drunken  women 
could  be  seen  reeling  about,  falling,  and  often  lying  in 
the  street. 

Both  the  tendency  of  the  English  to  isolate  themselves 
and  their  social  instincts  were  quite  different  from  those  of 
the  French.  I  was  permitted  to  see  the  comfortably  fur- 
nished Athenaeum  Club  in  Pall  Mall,  membership  of  which 
was  so  much  desired  that  people  of  high  standing  would 
have  their  names  on  the  list  for  years  beforehand,  and  these 
clubs  corresponded  to  the  cafes  in  Paris,  which  were  open 
to  every  passer-by.  I  noticed  that  in  the  restaurants  the 
tables  were  often  hidden  behind  high  screens,  that  the  dif- 
ferent parties  who  were  dining  rnight  not  be  able  to  see  one 
another. 


28o  REMINISCENCES 

XX. 

The  house  In  London  where  I  was  happiest  was  Anto- 
nio Gallenga's.  A  letter  from  the  Hauchs  was  my  introduc- 
tion there,  and  I  was  received  and  taiven  up  by  them  as 
if  they  had  known  me  and  hked  me  for  years. 

Antonio  Gallenga,  then  a  man  of  seventy,  who  never- 
theless gave  one  an  impression  of  youthfulness,  had  a  most 
eventful  life  behind  him.  He  had  been  born  at  Parma,  ¥/as 
flung  into  prison  at  the  age  of  twenty  as  a  conspirator  under 
Mazzini,  was  banished  from  Piedmont,  spent  some  time  at 
Malta,  in  the  United  States  and  In  England,  where  he  earned 
his  living  as  a  journalist  and  teacher  of  languages,  and  in 
1848  returned  to  Italy,  where  he  was  active  as  a  liberal  poli- 
tician. After  the  battle  of  Novara,  he  was  again  obliged  to 
take  refuge  In  London;  but  he  was  recalled  to  Piedmont  by 
Cavour,  who  had  him  elected  deputy  for  Castellamonte.  He 
wrote  an  Italian  Grammar  in  English,  and,  likewise  in  Eng- 
lish, the  History  of  Piedmont,  quarrelled  with  Mazzini's  ad- 
herents, withdrew  from  parliamentary  life,  and  In  preference 
to  settling  down  permanently  In  Italy  elected  to  be  war  cor- 
respondent to  the  Times.  In  that  capacity  he  took  part 
from  1859  onwards  in  the  campaigns  in  Italy,  In  the  North 
American  States,  In  Denmark,  and  in  Spain.  His  little  boy 
was  still  wearing  the  Spanish  national  costume.  Now  he 
had  settled  down  In  London,  on  the  staff  of  the  Times,  and 
had  just  come  Into  town  from  the  country,  as  the  paper 
wished  him  to  be  near,  on  account  of  the  approaching  war. 
Napoleon  III.,  to  whom  Gallenga  had  vowed  an  inextin- 
guishable hatred,  had  been  studied  so  closely  by  him  that 
the  Emperor  might  be  regarded  as  his  specialty.  He  used 
the  energetic,  violent  language  of  the  old  revolutionary,  was 
with  all  his  heart  and  soul  an  Italian  patriot,  but  had, 
through  a  twenty  years'  connection  with  England,  acquired 
the  practical  English  view  of  political  affairs.  Towards 
Denmark,  where  he  had  been  during  the  most  critical  period 
of  the  country's  history,  he  felt  kindly;  but  our  war  meth- 
ods had  of  course  not  been  able  to  excite  his  admiration; 
neither  had  our  diplomatic  negotiations  during  the  war. 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      281 

Gallenga  was  a  well-to-do  man;  he  owned  a  house  In 
the  best  part  of  London  and  a  house  In  the  country  as  well. 
He  was  a  powerful  man,  with  passionate  feelings,  devoid 
of  vanity.  It  suited  him  well  that  the  Times,  as  the  Eng- 
lish custom  Is,  printed  his  articles  unsigned;  he  was  pleased 
at  the  Increased  influence  they  won  thereby,  inasmuch  as  they 
appeared  as  the  expression  of  the  universal  paper's  verdict. 
His  wife  was  an  Englishwoman,  pleasant  and  well-bred,  of 
cosmopolitan  education  and  really  erudite.  Not  only  did 
she  know  the  European  languages,  but  she  wrote  and  spoke 
Hindustani.  She  was  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  English 
housekeeper,  and  devoted  herself  enthusiastically  to  her  two 
exceedingly  beautiful  children,  a  boy  of  eleven  and  a  little 
girl  of  nine.  The  children  spoke  English,  Italian,  French, 
and  German  with  equal  facility  and  correctness. 

Mrs.  Gallenga  had  a  more  composite  and  a  deeper  na- 
ture than  her  husband,  who  doubted  neither  the  truth  of  his 
ideas,  nor  their  salutary  power.  She  shared  his  and  my  opin- 
ions without  sharing  our  confidence  in  them.  When  she  heard 
me  say  that  I  intended  to  assert  my  ideas  in  Denmark,  and 
wage  war  against  existing  prejudices,  she  would  say,  in  our 
long  conversations: 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Denmark;  the  people  there  seem  to 
me  to  be  happy,  despite  everything,  and  the  country  not  to 
be  over-populated.  In  any  case,  the  population  finds  ample 
means  of  outlet  In  sea-IIfe  and  emigration.  Denmark  Is 
an  Idyllic  little  country.  Now  you  want  to  declare  war 
there.  My  thoughts  seek  down  In  dark  places,  and  I  ask 
myself  whether  I  really  believe  that  truth  does  any  good, 
whether  In  my  secret  heart  I  am  convinced  that  strife  Is  bet- 
ter than  stagnation?  I  admire  Oliver  Cromwell,  but  I  sym- 
pathise with  Falkland,  who  died  with  'Peace!  Peace! '^ 
on  his  lips.  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  have  to  bear  a  great 
deal.  You  will  learn  that  the  accoutrements  of  truth  are  a 
grievously  heavy  coat  of  mall.  You  will  call  forth  reaction. 
Even  that  Is  the  least.  But  reaction  will  come  about  In 
your  own  mind;  after  a  long  time,  I  mean.      Still,  you  arc 

'Sir  Lucius  Cary,  second  Viscount  Falkland,  who  fell  at  Newbury,  Sept. 
20,  1643. 


282  REMINISCENCES 

strong;  It  will  be  a  reaction  of  the  kind  that  keeps  aloof  in 
order  to  spring  farther  and  better.  Your  unity  will  not  go 
to  pieces.     You  are  a  kind  of  cosmos." 

When  the  conversation  turned  upon  England  and  Eng- 
lish conditions,  she  protested  against  the  opinion  prevalent 
on  the  continent  since  Byron's  day,  that  English  society  was 
infested  with  hypocrisy. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  hypocrisy  is  characteristic  of  Eng- 
lish thought.  We  have,  of  course,  like  every  serious  peo- 
ple, our  share  of  hypocrites;  in  a  frivolous  nation  hypocrisy 
has  no  pretext  for  existence.  But  its  supremacy  amongst  us 
is  over.  Apathetic  orthodoxy,  and  superficial  ideas  of  the 
correct  thing,  ruled  England  during  the  first  half  of  the  cen- 
tury. The  intellectual  position  of  the  country  is  different 
now.  No  one  who  has  not  lived  in  England  has  any  idea 
how  serious  and  real  the  belief  here  is  in  the  tough  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity,  who,  in  human  form,  walked  about  in  Gall- 
lee.  Good  men,  noble  men,  live  and  work  for  this  dogma, 
perform  acts  of  love  for  it.  We,  you  and  I,  have  drunk 
from  other  sources;  but  for  these  people  it  is  the  fountain  of 
life.  Only  it  is  depressing  to  see  this  doctrine  in  its  Roman 
Catholic  form  winning  greater  power  everywhere  every 
day.  In  Denmark,  intellectual  stagnation  has  hindered  it 
hitherto;  you  have  political,  but  not  yet  religious,  freedom. 
Belgium  has  both,  and  Belgium  is  at  the  present  time  the 
most  fiery  Catholic  power  there  is.  France  is  divided  be- 
tween extreme  materialism  and  Madonna  worship.  When 
European  thought — between  1820  and  i860,  let  us  say — 
rebelled  against  every  kind  of  orthodoxy,  and,  as  always 
happens  with  rebellion,  made  mistakes  and  went  too  far, 
France  played  a  wretched  role.  It  is  a  Celtic  land,  and 
Celtic  it  will  remain;  it  desires,  not  personal  freedom,  but  a 
despotic  levelling,  not  equality  before  the  law,  but  the  base 
equality  which  is  inimical  to  excellence,  not  the  brotherhood 
that  Is  brotherly  love,  but  that  which  gives  the  bad  the  right 
to  share  with  the  good.  That  is  why  the  Empire  could  be 
victorious  in  France,  and  that  is  why  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  even  in  its  most  modern,  Byzantine  form,  Is  triumph- 
ant there." 


SECOND   LOXCH'.R   STAY  ABROAD  283 

So  thoroughly  English  was  Anna  Gallenga's  way  of 
looking  at  things,  in  spite  of  an  education  which  had  in- 
cluded the  chief  countries  in  Europe.  So  blindly  did  she 
share  the  prejudice  that  the  French  are  essentially  Celtic. 
And  so  harshly  did  she  judge,  in  spite  of  a  scepticism,  femi- 
nine though  it  was,  that  was  surprising  in  a  woman. 


XXI. 

Don  Juan  Prim,  Count  of  Reus,  Marques  de  los  Castil- 
lejos,  would  now  be  forgotten  outside  Spain  were  It  not  that 
Ivcgnault's  splendid  equestrian  picture  of  him,  as  he  is  re- 
ceiving the  homage  of  the  people  (on  a  fiery  steed,  remind- 
ing one  of  \'elasquez),  keeps  his  memory  green  in  everyone 
who  visits  the  Gallery  of  the  Louvre.  At  that  time  his  name 
was  on  every  tongue.  The  victorious  general  and  revolu- 
tionary of  many  years'  standing  had  since  1869  been  Prime 
Minister  of  Spain,  and  had  eagerly  endeavoured  to  get  a 
foreign  prince  for  the  throne  who  would  be  dependent  upon 
him  and  under  whom  he  would  be  able  to  keep  the  power  in 
his  own  hands.  He  had  now  offered  the  throne  of  Spain  to 
Leopold  of  Hohenzollern,  but  without  having  assured  him- 
self of  the  consent  of  the  Powers.  That  of  Prussia  was 
of  course  safe  enough,  and  for  six  weeks  Napoleon  had 
looked  on  benevolently  at  the  negotiations,  and  acted  as 
though  the  arrangement  had  his  approval,  which  Prim  had 
the  more  reason  to  suppose  since  Leopold  was  related  to  the 
Murat  family,  and  the  Emperor  had  raised  no  objection  to 
a  Hohenzollern  ascending  the  throne  of  Roumania.  Conse- 
quently, Prim  was  thunderstruck  when  France  suddenly 
turned  round  and  seized  upon  this  trivial  pretext  for  a  breach 
of  the  peace. 

He  was  In  regular  correspondence  with  the  Gallengas, 
whom  he  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  during  the  years,  after  the 
unsuccessful  rebellion  against  Queen  Isabella,  that  he  had 
spent  In  London.  At  that  time  he  had  been  a  man  of  fifty, 
and,  with  his  little  body  and  large  head,  had  looked  very 
strange  among  Englishmen.  He  w-as  of  modest  birth,  but 
denied  the   fact.     He  was  now  a  Spanish   grandee  of  the 


284  REMINISCENCES 

first  class,  but  this  was  through  a  patent  bestowed  on  him 
for  courage  in  the  war  with  Morocco;  he  had  little  educa- 
tion, did  not  know  a  word  of  English,  wrote  French  with  a 
purely  fantastic  orthography,  but  had  excellent  qualities  as  a 
Liberal,  an  army  chief,  and  a  popular  leader.  Still,  he  was 
not  pleased  that  Regnault  had  painted  him  greeted  by  the 
enthusiastic  cheers  of  an  untidy,  ragged  mob  of  rebels;  he 
would  have  preferred  to  be  receiving  the  acclamations  of 
regular  troops,  and  of  the  highest  men  and  women  in  the 
nation,  as  now,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  career,  he  really  was. 
Only  a  few  months  later  (in  December,  1870),  he  was  shot 
by  an  assassin  In  the  streets  of  Madrid. 

In  Prim's  communications  to  Gallenga,  the  atti- 
tude of  the  French  government  appeared  to  me  in  a  most  un- 
favourable light.  Ollivier,  the  Premier,  I  had  long  despised; 
it  did  not  need  much  political  acumen  to  see  that  he 
was  an  ambitious  and  conceited  phrase-monger,  who  would 
let  himself  be  led  by  the  nose  by  those  who  had  disarmed 
him.  The  Emperor  himself  was  a  wreck.  I  had  had  no 
doubt  of  that  since  I  had  one  day  seen  him  at  very  close 
quarters  in  the  Louvre,  where  he  was  inspecting  some  re- 
cently hung,  decorative  paintings.  It  was  quite  evident  that 
he  could  not  walk  alone,  but  advanced,  half-sliding,  sup- 
ported by  two  tall  chamberlains,  who  each  gave  him  an  arm. 
His  eyes  were  half-closed  and  his  gaze  absolutely  dulled.  The 
dressed  and  waxed  moustache,  which  ran  to  a  needle-like 
point,  looked  doubly  tasteless  against  his  wax  mask  of  a 
face.  He  was  the  incarnation  of  walking  decrepitude,  vapid 
and  slack.  Quite  evidently  he  had  committed  the  blunder 
of  trusting  to  a  split  in  Germany.  In  his  blindness  he  ex- 
plained that  he  had  come  to  free  the  Germans,  who  had, 
against  their  will,  been  incorporated  into  Prussia,  and  all 
Germany  rose  like  one  man  against  him.  And  in  his  fool- 
ish proclamation  he  declared  that  he  was  waging  this  war 
for  the  sake  of  the  civilising  ideals  of  the  first  Republic,  as 
if  Germany  were  now  going  to  be  civilised  for  the  first  time, 
and  as  if  he,  who  had  made  an  end  of  the  second  Republic 
by  a  coup  d'etat,  could  speak  in  the  name  of  Republican  free- 
dom.    His  whole  attitude  was  mendacious  and  mean,  and 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  AliROAD  285 

the  wretched  pretext  under  which  he  declared  war  could  not 
but  prejudice  Europe  against  him.  In  addition  to  this,  as 
they  knew  very  well  in  England,  from  the  earlier  wars  of 
the  Empire,  he  had  no  generals;  his  victories  had  been  sol- 
dier victories, 

I  was  very  deeply  Impressed,  in  the  next  place,  by  the 
suicide  of  Prevost-Paradol.  I  had  studied  most  carefully 
his  book,  La  France  Nuircelle;  I  had  seen  in  this  friend  and 
comrade  of  Taine  and  of  Renan  the  political  leader  of  the  fu- 
ture in  France.  No  one  was  so  well  acquainted  with  its 
resources  as  he;  no  one  knew  better  than  he  what  policy 
ought  to  be  followed.  If  he  had  despaired,  it  was  because 
he  foresaw  that  the  situation  was  hopeless.  He  had  cer- 
tainly made  mistakes;  first,  in  believing  that  in  January  it 
had  been  Napoleon's  serious  intention  to  abrogate  personal 
control  of  the  state,  then  that  of  retaining,  despite  the  long 
hesitation  so  well  known  to  me,  his  position  as  French  En- 
voy to  North  America,  after  the  plebiscite.  That  he  should 
now  have  turned  his  pistol  against  his  own  forehead  told  me 
that  he  regarded  the  battle  as  lost,  foresaw  inevitable  col- 
lapse as  the  outcome  of  the  war.  When  at  first  all  the  ru- 
mours and  all  the  papers  announced  the  extreme  probability 
of  Denmark's  taking  part  in  the  war  as  France's  ally,  I  was 
seized  with  a  kind  of  despair  at  the  thought  of  the  folly  she 
seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  committing.  I  wrote  to  my 
friends,  would  have  liked,  had  I  been  permitted,  to  write 
in  every  Danish  paper  a  warning  against  the  martial  mad- 
ness that  had  seized  upon  people.  It  was  only  apparently 
shared  by  the  French.  Even  now,  only  a  week  after  the  dec- 
laration of  war,  and  before  a  single  collision  had  taken  place. 
it  was  clear  to  everyone  who  carefully  followed  the  course 
of  events  that  in  spite  of  the  light-hearted  bragging  of  the 
Parisians  and  the  Press,  there  was  deep-rooted  aversion  to 
war.  And  T,  who  had  always  counted  Voltaire's  Micrnyn- 
egas  as  one  of  my  favourite  tales,  thought  of  where  Sirius, 
the  giant,  voices  his  supposition  that  the  people  on  the  earth 
are  happv  beings  who  pass  their  time  in  love  and  thought, 
and  of  the  philosopher's  reply  to  him:  "At  this  moment 
there  are  a  hundred  thousand  animals  of  our  species,  who 


286  REMINISCENCES 

wear  hats,  engaged  in  killing  a  hundred  thousand  more, 
who  wear  turbans,  or  in  being  killed  by  them.  And  so  it 
has  been  all  over  the  earth  from  time  immemorial."  Only 
that  this  time  not  a  hundred  thousand,  but  some  two  million 
men  were  being  held  in  readiness  to  exterminate  each  other. 

What  I  saw  in  London  of  the  scenic  art  at  the  Adelphi 
Theatre,  the  Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre  and  the  Royal  Strand 
Theatre  was  disheartening.  Moliere  was  produced  as  the 
lowest  kind  of  farce,  Sheridan  was  acted  worse  than  would 
be  permitted  in  Denmark  at  a  second-class  theatre;  but  the 
scenic  decorations,  a  greensward,  shifting  lights,  and  the 
like,  surpassed  anything  that  I  had  ever  seen  before. 

More  instructive  and  more  fascinating  than  the  theatres 
were  the  parliamentary  debates  and  the  trials  in  the  Law 
Courts.  I  enjoyed  in  particular  a  sitting  of  the  Commons 
with  a  long  debate  between  Gladstone  and  Disraeli,  who 
were  like  representatives  of  two  races  and  two  opposed 
views  of  life.  Gladstone  was  in  himself  handsomer,  clearer, 
and  more  open,  Disraeli  spoke  with  a  finer  point,  and  more 
elegantly,  had  a  larger  oratorical  compass,  more  often 
made  a  witty  hit,  and  evoked  more  vigorous  response  and  ap- 
plause. Their  point  of  disagreement  was  the  forthcoming 
war;  Disraeli  wished  all  the  documents  regarding  it  to  be 
laid  before  parliament;  Gladstone  declared  that  he  could  not 
produce  them.  In  England,  as  elsewhere,  the  war  that  was 
just  breaking  out  dominated  every  thought. 

XXII. 

The  Paris  I  saw  again  was  changed.  Even  on  my  way 
from  Calais  I  heard,  to  my  astonishment,  the  hitherto  strictly 
forbidden  Marseillaise  hummed  and  muttered.  In  Paris, 
people  went  arm  in  arm  about  the  streets  singing,  and  the 
Marseillaise  was  heard  everywhere.  The  voices  were  gen- 
erally harsh,  and  it  was  painful  to  hear  the  song  that  had 
become  sacred  through  having  been  silenced  so  long,  pro- 
faned in  this  wise,  in  the  bawling  and  shouting  of  half- 
drunken  men  at  night.  But  the  following  days,  as  well,  it 
was  hummed,  hooted,  whistled  and  sung  everywhere,  and  as 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  287 

the  French  arc  one  of  the  most  unmusical  nations  on  earth, 
it  sounded  for  the  most  part  anything  but  agreeable. 

In  those  days,  while  no  collision  between  the  masses  of 
troops  had  as  yet  taken  place,  there  was  a  certain  cheerfulness 
over  Paris;  it  could  be  detected  in  every  conversation;  peo- 
ple were  more  lively,  raised  their  voices  more,  chatted  more 
than  at  other  times;  the  cabmen  growled  more  loudly,  and 
cracked  their  whips  more  incessantly  than  usual. 

Assurance  of  coming  victory  was  expressed  everywhere, 
even  among  the  hotel  servants  in  the  Rue  Racine  and  on  the 
lips  of  the  waiters  at  every  restaurant.  Everybody  related 
how  many  had  already  volunteered;  the  number  grew  from 
day  to  day;  first  it  was  ten  thousand,  then  seventy-five  thou- 
sand, then  a  hundred  thousand.  In  the  Quartier  Latin,  the 
students  sat  in  their  cafes,  many  of  them  in  uniform,  sur- 
rounded by  their  comrades,  who  were  bidding  them  good- 
bye. It  was  characteristic  that  they  no  longer  had  their 
womenfolk  with  them;  they  had  flung  them  aside,  now  that 
the  matter  was  serious.  Every  afternoon  a  long  stream  of 
carriages,  filled  with  departing  young  soldiers,  could  be  seen 
moving  out  towards  the  Gare  du  Nord.  From  every  car- 
riage large  flags  waved.  Women,  their  old  mothers,  work- 
women, who  sat  in  the  carriages  with  them,  held  enormous 
bouquets  on  long  poles.  The  dense  mass  of  people  through 
which  one  drove  were  grave;  but  the  soldiers  for  the  miost 
part  retained  their  gaiety,  made  grimaces,  smoked  and  drank. 

Nevertheless,  the  Emperor's  proclamation  had  made  a 
very  poor  impression.  It  was  with  the  intention  of  pro- 
ducing an  effect  of  sincerity  that  he  foretold  the  war  would 
be  long  and  grievous,  {longue  et  penible)  ;  with  a  people  of 
the  French  national  character  it  would  have  been  better  had 
he  been  able  to  write  "  terrible,  but  short."  Even  now,  when 
people  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  situation,  this  procla- 
mation hung  like  a  nightmare  over  them.  I  was  all  the  more 
astonished  when  an  old  copy  of  the  Daily  Paper  for  the  30th 
of  July  fell  into  my  hands,  and  I  read  that  their  correspond- 
ent (Topsoe,  recently  arrived  in  Paris)  had  seen  a  bloused 
workman  tear  off  his  hat,  after  reading  the  proclamation, 
and  heard  him  shout,  "  Vive  la  France!  "     So  thoughtlessly 


288  REMINISCENCES 

did  people  continue  to  feed  the  Danish  pubhc  with  the  food 
to  which  it  was  accustomed. 

Towards  the  8th  or  9th  of  August  I  met  repeatedly 
the  author  of  the  article.  He  told  me  that  the  Due  de  Cadore 
had  appeared  in  Copenhagen  on  a  very  indefinite  errand, 
but  without  achieving  the  slightest  result.  Topsoe,  for  that 
matter,  was  extraordinarily  ignorant  of  French  affairs,  had 
only  been  four  weeks  in  France  altogether,  and  openly  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  touched  up  his  correspondence  as  well  as 
he  could.  He  had  never  yet  been  admitted  to  the  Corps 
It'gislatif,  nevertheless  he  had  related  how  the  tears  had 
come  into  the  eyes  of  the  members  and  the  tribunes  the 
day  when  the  Due  de  Grammont  "again  lifted  the  flag  of 
France  on  high."  He  said:  "  I  have  been  as  unsophisti- 
cated as  a  child  over  this  war,"  and  added  that  Bille  had  been 
more  so  than  himself. 


XXIII. 

One  could  hardly  praise  the  attitude  of  the  French  pa- 
pers between  the  declaration  of  war  and  the  first  battles. 
Their  boasting  and  exultation  over  what  they  were  going  to 
do  was  barely  decent,  they  could  talk  of  nothing  but  the  vic- 
tories they  were  registering  beforehand,  and,  first  and  last, 
the  entry  into  Berlin.  The  insignificant  encounter  at  Saar- 
briicken  was  termed  everywhere  the  premiere  victoire!  The 
caricatures  in  the  shop-windows  likewise  betrayed  terrible 
arrogance.  One  was  painfully  reminded  of  the  behaviour 
of  the  French  before  the  battle  of  Agincourt  in  Shakespeare's 
Henry  V . 

It  was  no  matter  for  surprise  that  a  populace  thus  ex- 
cited should  parade  through  the  streets  in  an  evening,  shout- 
mg'' A  Berlin!     A  Berlin  l'' 

National  enthusiasm  could  vent  itself  in  the  theatres, 
in  a  most  convenient  manner,  without  making  any  sacrifice. 
As  soon  as  the  audience  had  seen  the  first  piece  at  the  The- 
atre Francals,  the  public  clamoured  for  La  Marseillaise,  and 
brooked  no  denial.     A  few  minutes  later  the  lovely  Mile. 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  289 

Agar  came  in,  in  a  Greek  costume.  Two  French  Hags  were 
held  over  her  head.  She  then  sang,  quietly,  sublimely,  with 
expression  at  the  same  time  restrained  and  inspiring,  the 
Marseillaise.  The  countless  variations  of  her  voice  were  in 
admirable  keeping  with  her  animated  and  yet  sculptural 
gesticulation,  and  the  effect  was  thrilling,  although  certain 
passages  in  the  song  were  hardly  suitable  to  the  circumstances 
of  the  moment,  for  instance,  the  invocation  of  Freedom, 
the  prayer  to  her  to  fight  for  her  defenders.  When 
the  last  verse  came,  she  seized  the  flag  and  knelt  down; 
the  audience  shouted,  "Dehout!"  All  rose  and  listened 
standing  to  the  conclusion,  which  was  followed  by  mad 
applause. 

People  seized  upon  every  opportunity  of  obtruding 
their  patriotism.  One  evening  Le  lion  amouretix  was  given. 
In  the  long  speech  which  concludes  the  second  act,  a  young 
Republican  describes  the  army  which,  during  the  Revolution, 
crossed  the  frontier  for  the  first  time  and  utterly  destroyed 
the  Prussian  armies.    The  whole  theatre  foamed  like  the  sea. 


XXIV. 


Those  were  Summer  days,  and  in  spite  of  the  political 
and  martial  excitement,  the  peaceful  woods  and  parks  in  the 
environs  of  Paris  were  tempting.  From  the  Quartier  Latin 
many  a  couple  secretly  found  their  way  to  the  forests  of  St. 
Germain,  or  the  lovely  wood  at  Chantilly.  In  the  morning 
one  bought  a  roast  fowl  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  then  spent 
the  greater  part  of  the  day  under  the  beautiful  oak-trees, 
and  sat  down  to  one's  meal  in  the  pleasant  green  shade.  Now 
and  again  one  of  the  young  women  would  make  a  wreath 
of  oak  leaves  and  twine  it  round  her  companion's  straw  hat, 
while  he,  bareheaded,  lay  gazing  up  at  the  tree-tops.  For 
a  long  time  I  kept  just  such  a  wreath  as  a  remembrance,  and 
its  withered  leaves  roused  melancholy  reflections  some  years 
later,  for  during  the  war  every  tree  of  the  Chantilly  wood  had 
been  felled;  the  wreath  was  all  that  remained  of  the  mag- 
nificent oak  forest. 


290  REMINISCENCES 

XXV. 

The  news  of  the  battle  of  Weissenburg  on  August  4th 
was  a  trouble,  but  this  chicHy  manifested  itself  in  profound 
astonishment.  What?  They  had  suffered  a  defeat?  But 
one  did  not  begin  to  be  victorious  at  once;  victory  would 
soon  follow  now.  And,  indeed,  next  morning,  the  news  of 
a  victory  ran  like  lightning  about  the  town.  It  had  been 
so  confidently  expected  that  people  quite  neglected  to  make 
enquiries  as  to  how  and  to  what  extent  it  was  authenticated. 
There  was  bunting  everywhere;  all  the  horses  had  flags  on 
their  heads,  people  went  about  with  little  flags  in  their  hats. 
As  the  day  wore  on  it  turned  out  to  be  all  a  false  report,  and 
the  depression  was  great. 

Next  evening,  as  I  came  out  of  the  Theatre  Frangals, 
there  stood  the  Emperor's  awful  telegram  to  read,  several 
copies  of  It  posted  up  on  the  columns  of  the  porch :  "  Mac- 
mahon  has  lost  a  battle,  Frossard  is  retreating.  Put  Paris 
in  a  condition  of  defence  as  expeditiously  as  possible!" 
Then,  like  everyone  else,  I  understood  the  extent  of  the  mis- 
fortune. Napoleon  had  apparently  lost  his  head;  it  was 
very  unnecessary  to  publish  the  conclusion  of  the  telegram. 

Immediately  afterwards  was  issued  the  Empress'  proc- 
lamation, which  was  almost  silly.  "  I  am  with  you,"  it  ran 
— a  charming  consolation  for  the  Parisians. 

Astonishment  produced  a  kind  of  paralysis:  anger 
looked  round  for  an  object  on  which  to  vent  itself,  but  hardly 
knew  whom  to  select.  Besides,  people  had  really  insuflficient 
information  as  to  what  had  happened.  The  S'lecle  printed 
a  fairly  turbulent  article  at  once,  but  no  exciting  language  in 
the  papers  was  required.  Even  a  foreigner  could  perceiv^e 
that  if  it  became  necessary  to  defend  Paris  after  a  second 
defeat,  the  Empire  would  be  at  an  end. 

The  exasperation  which  had  to  vent  itself  was  directed 
at  first  against  the  Ministers,  and  ridiculously  enough  the 
silence  imposed  on  the  Press  concerning  the  movements  of 
the  troops  {le  mtitisme)  was  blamed  for  the  defeat  at  Weis- 
senburg; then  the  exasperation  swung  back  and  was  directed 
against  the  generals,  who  were  dubbed  negligent  and  inca- 


SECOND   LUNGER   Sl'AY  AJ5KOAD 


291 


pable,  until,  ponderously  and  slowly,  it  turned  against  the 
Emperor  himself. 

But  with  the  haste  that  characterises  French  emotion, 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  events  succeeded  one  another, 
even  this  exasperation  was  of  short  duration.  It  raged  for 
a  few  days,  and  then  subsided  for  want  of  contradiction  of 
its  own  accord,  for  the  conviction  spread  that  the  Emperor's 
day  was  irrevocably  over  and  that  he  continued  to  exist  only 
in  name.  A  witness  to  the  rapidity  of  this  volte  face  were 
three  consecutive  articles  by  Edmond  About  in  Le  Soir.  The 
first,  written  from  his  estate  in  Saverne,  near  Strassburg, 
was  extremely  bitter  against  the  Emperor;  it  began:  "  Na- 
poleone  tertio  feliciter  regnante,  as  people  said  in  the  olden 
days,  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  what  I  never  thought  to 
see:  Alsace  overrun  by  the  enemy's  troops."  The  next  ar- 
ticle, written  some  days  later,  in  the  middle  of  August,  when 
About  had  come  to  Paris,  called  the  Emperor,  without  more 
ado,  "  The  last  Bonaparte,"  and  began:  "  I  see  that  I  have 
been  writing  like  a  true  provincial;  in  the  provinces  at  the 
moment  people  have  two  curses  on  their  lips,  one  for  the 
Prussians,  and  one  for  those  who  began  the  war;  in  Paris, 
they  have  got  much  farther;  there  they  have  only  one  curse 
on  their  lips,  one  thought,  and  one  wish;  there  are  names 
that  are  no  more  mentioned  in  Paris  than  if  they  belonged 
to  the  twelfth  century." 

What  he  wrote  was,  at  the  moment,  true  and  cor- 
rect. I  was  frequently  asked  in  letters  what  the  French  now 
said  about  the  government  and  the  Emperor.  The  only  an- 
swer was  that  all  that  side  of  the  question  was  antiquated  in 
Paris.  If  I  were  to  say  to  one  of  my  acquaintances:  "  Eh! 
hien^  que  d'ltes-vous  de  I'empereurl ''''  the  reply  would  be: 
*'  Mais,  mon  cher,  je  ne  d\s  r'len  de  lux.  Voits  voycz  si  hien 
que  mot,  qu'il  ne  compte  plus.  C'est  iin  homme  par  terre. 
Tout  le  monde  le  sait;  la  gauche  mevie  fie  Vattaque  plus." 
Even  General  Trochu,  the  Governor  of  the  capital,  did  not 
mention  Napoleon's  name  In  his  proclamation  to  Paris.  He 
himself  hardly  dared  to  send  any  messages.  After  having 
been  obliged  to  surrender  the  supreme  command,  he  followed 
the  army,  like  a  mock  emperor,  a  kind  of  onlooker,  a  super- 


292  REMINISCENCES 

fluous  piece  on  the  board.  People  said  of  him :  '' On  croit 
qu'il  sc  promcne  tin  pen  mix  environs  de  Chalons." 

As  can  be  seen  from  this,  the  deposition  of  the  Emperor 
had  taken  place  in  people's  consciousness,  and  was,  so  to 
speak,  publicly  settled,  several  weeks  before  the  battle  of 
Sedan  brought  with  it  his  surrender  to  the  King  of  Prussia 
and  the  proclamation  of  the  French  Republic.  The  Revolu- 
tion of  September  4th  was  not  an  overturning  of  things;  it 
was  merely  the  ratification  of  a  state  of  affairs  that  people 
were  already  agreed  upon  in  the  capital,  and  had  been  even 
before  the  battle  of  Gravelotte. 

In  Paris  preparations  were  being  made  with  the  utmost 
energy  for  the  defence  of  the  city.  All  men  liable  to  bear 
arms  were  called  up,  and  huge  numbers  of  volunteers  were 
drilled.  It  was  an  affecting  sight  to  see  the  poor  workmen 
drilling  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel  for  enrolment  in  the  vol- 
unteer corps.  Really,  most  of  them  looked  so  bloodless  and 
wretched  that  one  was  tempted  to  think  they  went  with  the 
rest  for  the  sake  of  the  franc  a  day  and  uniform. 

XXVI. 

Anyone  whose  way  led  him  daily  past  the  fortifica- 
tions could  see,  however  technically  ignorant  he  might  be, 
that  they  were  exceedingly  insignificant.  Constantly,  too, 
one  heard  quoted  Trochu's  words:  "  I  don't  delude  my- 
self into  supposing  that  I  can  stop  the  Prussians  with  the 
matchsticks  that  are  being  planted  on  the  ramparts." 
Strangely  enough,  Paris  shut  herself  in  with  such  a  wall  of 
masonry  that  in  driving  through  it  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
there  was  barely  room  for  a  carriage  with  two  horses.  They 
bored  loop-holes  in  these  walls  and  ramparts,  but  few  doubted 
that  the  German  artillery  would  be  able  to  destroy  all  their 
defences  with  the  greatest  ease. 

Distribute  arms  to  the  civil  population,  as  the  papers 
unanimously  demanded,  from  readily  comprehensible  rea- 
sons, no  one  dared  to  do.  The  Empress'  Government  had 
to  hold  out  for  the  existing  state  of  things;  nevertheless,  in 
Paris, — certainly  from  about  the  8th  August, — people  were 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      293 

under  the  impression  that  what  had  been  lost  was  lost 
irrevocably. 

1  considered  it  would  be  incumbent  upon  my  honour  to 
return  to  Denmark,  if  we  were  drawn  into  the  war,  and  I 
lived  with  this  thought  before  my  eyes.  I  contemplated  with 
certainty  an  approaching  revolution  in  France;  1  was  vexed 
to  think  that  there  was  not  one  conspicuously  great  and  en- 
ergetic man  among  the  leaders  of  the  Opposition,  and  that 
such  a  poor  wretch  as  Rochefort  was  once  more  daily  men- 
tioned and  dragged  to  the  front.  Of  Gambetta  no  one  as 
yet  thought,  although  his  name  was  respected,  since  he  had 
made  himself  felt  the  last  season  as  the  most  vehement 
speaker  in  the  Chamber.  But  it  was  not  speakers  who  were 
wanted,  and  people  did  not  know  that  he  was  a  man  of 
action. 

The  Ministry  that  followed  Ollivier's  inspired  me  with 
no  confidence.  Palikao,  the  Prime  Minister,  was  termed 
in  the  papers  an  iron  man  (the  usual  set  phrase).  It  was 
said  that  he  "  would  not  scruple  to  clear  the  boulevards  with 
grape  " ;  but  the  genius  needed  for  such  a  performance  was 
not  overwhelming.  What  he  had  to  do  was  to  clear  France 
of  the  Germans,  and  that  was  more  difficult. 

Renan  had  had  to  interrupt  the  journey  to  Spitzbergen 
which  he  had  undertaken  in  Prince  Napoleon's  companv;  the 
Prince  and  his  party  had  only  reached  Tromsoe,  when  they 
were  called  back  on  account  of  the  war,  and  Renan  was  In  a 
state  of  the  most  violent  excitement.  He  said:  "  No  pun- 
ishment could  be  too  great  for  that  brainless  scoundrel  Olli- 
vler,  and  the  Ministry  that  has  followed  his  is  worse.  Every 
thinking  man  could  see  for  himself  that  the  declaration  of 
this  war  was  madness.  {A-t-on  jamais  vii  pareille  folie,  mon 
Dien,  mon  Dieii,  c'est  navrant.  Nous  sommes  tin  peiiple 
desarconne.)''''  In  his  eyes,  Palikao  was  no  better  than  a 
robber,  Jerome  David  than  a  murderer.  He  considered  the 
fall  of  Strasburg  imminent.  He  was  less  surprised  than  I 
at  the  unbounded  incapacity  shown  by  the  French  fleet  under 
the  difficult  conditions;  all  plans  for  a  descent  on  Northern 
Germany  had  already  been  given  up,  and  the  French  fleet 
was  unable  to  set  about  even  so  much  as  a  blockade  of  the 


294  REMINISCENCES 

ports,  such  as  the  Danes  had  successfully  carried  out  six  years 
before. 

Taine  was  as  depressed  as  Renan,  He  had  returned 
from  Germany,  where  he  had  gone  to  prepare  a  treatise  on 
Schiller,  on  account  of  the  sudden  death  of  Madame  Taine's 
mother.  As  early  as  August  2d,  when  no  battle  had  as  yet 
been  fought,  he  felt  exceedingly  anxious,  and  he  was  the  first 
Frenchman  whom  I  heard  take  into  consideration  the  possi- 
bility of  the  defeat  of  France;  he  expressed  great  sorrow  that 
two  nations  such  as  France  and  Germany  should  wage  na- 
tional war  against  each  other  as  they  were  doing.  "  I  have 
just  come  from  Germany,"  he  remarked,  "  where  I  have 
talked  with  many  brave  working-men.  When  I  think  of  what 
it  means  for  a  man  to  be  born  into  the  world,  nursed,  brought 
up,  instructed,  and  equipped;  when  I  think  what  struggling 
and  difficulties  he  must  go  through  himself  to  be  fit  for  the 
battle  of  life,  and  then  reflect  how  all  that  is  to  be  flung  into 
the  grave  as  a  lump  of  bleeding  flesh,  how  can  I  do  other  than 
grieve !  With  two  such  statesmen  as  Louis  Philippe,  war 
could  certainly  have  been  averted,  but  with  two  quarrelsome 
men  like  Bismarck  and  Napoleon  at  the  head  of  affairs,  it 
was,  of  course,  inevitable." 

Philarete  Chasles  saw  in  the  defeats  a  confirmation  of 
the  theory  that  he  proclaimed,  day  in,  day  out,  namely:  that 
the  Latin  races  were  on  the  rapid  down-grade;  Spain  and 
Portugal,  Italy,  Roumania,  the  South  American  republics, 
were,  in  his  opinion,  in  a  state  of  moral  putrefaction,  France 
a  sheer  Byzantium.  It  had  been  a  piece  of  foolhardiness 
without  parallel  to  try  to  make  this  war  a  decisive  racial 
struggle  between  the  nation  that,  as  Protestant,  brought  free 
research  in  its  train  and  one  which  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
get  rid  of  the  Pope  and  political  despotism.  Now  France 
was  paying  the  penalty. 

Out  in  the  country  at  Mcudon,  where  he  was,  there  had 
— probably  from  carelessness — occurred  repeated  explosions, 
the  last  time  on  August  20th.  Twenty  cases  of  cartridges 
had  just  been  sent  to  Bazaine;  a  hundred  still  remained, 
which  were  to  start  the  day  that  they  were  urgently  required. 
They  blew  up,  and  no  one  in  the  town  doubted  that  the  ex- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  295 

plosion  was  the  work  of  Prussian  spies.  For  things  had 
come  to  such  a  pass  that  people  saw  Prussian  spies  every- 
where. (During  the  first  month  of  the  war  all  Germans 
were  called  Prussians.)  Importance  was  attached  to  the 
fact  that  General  Frossard'g  nephew,  a  young  lieutenant  who 
lay  wounded  in  Chasles'  tower-house,  from  a  sword-thrust 
in  the  chest,  and  was  usually  delirious,  at  the  crash  had 
jumped  up  and  come  to  his  senses,  crying  out:  "It  is 
treachery!  It  is  Chamber  No.  6  blowing  up  I  "  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  that  was  where  the  cartridges  were.  It  was  said 
that  at  Meudon  traces  had  been  found  of  the  same  explosive 
as  had  been  used  in  bombs  against  the  Emperor  during  the 
first  days  of  May  (a  plot  that  had  probably  been  hatched  by 
the  police) .  The  perpetrator,  however, — doubtless  for  good 
reasons — was  not  discovered. 

Whatever  vanity  there  was  about  old  Philarete  Chasles 
left  him  altogether  during  this  critical  time,  which  seemed 
to  make  good  men  better  still.  His  niece,  too,  who  used  to 
be  loud-voiced  and  conceited,  was  quite  a  different  person. 
One  day  that  I  was  at  their  house  at  Meudon,  she  sat  in  a 
corner  for  a  long  time  crying  quietly.  Out  there,  they  were 
all  feverishly  anxious,  could  not  rest,  craved,  partly  to  hear 
the  latest  news,  partly  to  feel  the  pulse  of  Paris.  One  day 
after  dinner,  Chasles  invited  me  to  go  into  town  with  him, 
and  when  we  arrived  he  took  a  carriage  and  drove  about 
with  me  for  two  hours  observing  the  prevailing  mood.  We 
heard  countless  anecdotes,  most  of  them  apocryphal,  but 
reflecting  the  beliefs  of  the  moment :  The  Empress  had  sent 
three  milliards  (!)  in  French  gold  to  the  Bank  of  England. 
The  Emperor,  who  was  jealous  of  Macmahon  since  the  lat- 
ter had  rescued  him  at  Magenta,  had  taken  the  command  of 
the  Turcos  from  the  Marshal,  although  the  latter  had  said  In 
the  Council  of  War :  "  The  Turcos  must  be  given  to  me,  they 
will  not  obey  anyone  else."  And  true  it  was  that  no  one  else 
had  any  control  over  them.  If  one  had  committed  theft, 
or  misbehaved  himself  in  any  other  way,  and  Macmahon. 
whom  they  called  only  "Our  Marshal,"  rode  down  the 
front  of  their  lines  and  scolded  them,  they  began  to  cry, 
rushed  up  and  kissed  his  feet,  and  hung  to  his  horse,  like 


296  REMINISCENCES 

children  asking  for  forgiveness.  And  now  someone  had 
made  the  great  mistake  of  giving  them  to  another  general. 
And,  the  commander  being  anxious  to  dazzle  the  Germans 
with  them,  they  and  the  Zouazes  had  been  sent  first  into  the 
lire,  in  spite  of  Bazaine's  very  sensible  observation :  "  When 
you  drive,  you  do  not  begin  at  a  galop."  And  so  these 
picked  troops  were  broken  up  in  their  first  engagement.  It 
was  said  that  of  2,500  Turcos,  only  29  were  left. 

An  anecdote  like  the  following,  which  was  told  to  us, 
will  serve  to  show  how  popular  legends  grow  up,  in  virtue 
of  the  tendency  there  is  to  reduce  a  whole  battle  to  a  colli- 
sion between  two  generals,  just  as  in  the  Homeric  age,  or  in 
Shakespeare:  The  Crown  Prince  of  Prussia  was  fighting  very 
bravely  at  Worth,  in  the  front  ranks.  That  he  threw  the 
Turcos  into  confusion  was  the  result  of  a  ray  of  sunlight  fall- 
ing on  the  silver  eagle  on  his  helmet.  The  Arabs  thought  it 
a  sign  from  Heaven.  Macmahon,  who  was  shooting  in  the 
ranks,  was  so  near  the  Crown  Prince  that  the  latter  shouted 
to  him  in  French :  "  Voila  iin  homme!  "  but  the  Frenchman 
surpassed  him  in  chivalrous  politeness,  for  he  saluted,  and  re- 
plied:    "  Voila  tin  herosi  " 

XXVII. 

After  my  return  to  Paris,  I  had  taken  lessons  from  an 
excellent  language  teacher.  Mademoiselle  Guemain,  an  old 
maid  who  had  for  many  years  taught  French  to  Scandina- 
vians, and  for  whom  I  wrote  descriptions  and  remarks  on 
what  I  saw,  to  acquire  practise  In  written  expression.  She 
had  known  most  of  the  principal  Northerners  w^ho  had  vis- 
ited Paris  during  the  last  twenty  years,  had  taught  Magda- 
lene Thoresen,  amongst  others,  when  this  latter  as  a  young 
woman  had  stayed  in  Paris.  She  was  an  excellent  creature, 
an  unusual  woman,  intellectual,  sensitive,  and  innocent,  who 
made  an  unforgettable  Impression  upon  one.  Besides  the 
appointed  lesson-times,  we  sometimes  talked  for  hours  to- 
gether. How  sad  that  the  lives  of  such  good  and  exceptional 
women  should  vanish  and  disappear,  without  any  special 
thanks  given  to  them  in  their  life-times,  and  with  no  one  of 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ADROAD      297 

the  many  whom  they  have  benefitted  to  tell  publicly  of  their 
value.  She  possessed  all  the  refinement  of  the  French,  to- 
gether with  the  modesty  of  an  old  maid,  was  both  personally 
inexperienced,  and  by  virtue  of  the  much  that  she  had  seen, 
very  experienced  in  worldly  things.  1  visited  her  again  in 
1889,  after  the  lapse  of  nineteen  years,  having  learned  her 
address  through  Jonas  Lie  and  his  wife,  who  knew  her.  I 
found  her  older,  but  still  more  charming,  and  touchingly 
humble.  It  cut  me  to  the  heart  to  hear  her  say:  "  C'est 
line  vraie  charite  que  vous  me  faites  de  vcuir  me  voir." 

Mile.  Guemain  was  profoundly  affected,  like  everyone 
else,  by  what  we  were  daily  passing  through  during  this  time 
of  heavy  strain.  As  a  woman,  she  was  impressed  most  by 
the  seriousness  which  had  seized  even  the  most  frivolous 
people,  and  by  the  patriotic  enthusiasm  which  was  spreading 
in  ever  wider  circles.  She  regarded  it  as  deeper  and  stronger 
than  as  a  rule  it  was. 

XXVIII. 

The  temper  prevailing  among  my  Italian  friends  was 
very  different.  The  Italians,  as  their  way  was,  were  just  like 
children,  laughed  at  the  whole  thing,  were  glad  that  the  Prus- 
sians were  "  drubbing  "  the  French,  to  whom,  as  good  pa- 
triots, they  wished  every  misfortune  possible.  The  French 
had  behaved  like  tyrants  in  Italy;  now  they  were  being  paid 
out.  Besides  which,  the  Prussians  would  not  come  to  Paris. 
But  if  they  did  come,  they  would  be  nice  to  them,  and  invite 
them  to  dinner,  like  friends.  Sometimes  I  attempted  to  re- 
ply, but  came  off  badly.  One  day  that  I  had  ventured  a  re- 
mark to  a  large  and  ponderous  Roman  lady,  on  the  ingrati- 
tude of  the  Italians  towards  the  French,  the  good  lady 
jumped  as  if  a  knife  had  been  stuck  into  her,  and  expatiated 
passionately  on  the  infamy  of  the  French.  The  Romans 
were, — as  everyone  knew, — the  first  nation  on  earth.  The 
French  had  outraged  them,  had  dared  to  prevent  them  mak- 
ing their  town  the  capital  of  Italy,  by  garrisoning  it  with 
French  soldiers  who  had  no  business  there,  so  that  they  had 
themselves  asked  for  the  Nemesis  which  was  now  overtaking 


298  REMINISCENCES 

them,  and  which  the  Itahans  were  watching  with  flashing 
eyes.  She  said  this,  in  spite  of  her  anger,  with  such  dignity, 
and  such  a  bearing,  that  one  could  not  but  feel  that,  if  she 
were  one  day  called  upon  to  adorn  a  throne,  she  would  seat 
herself  upon  it  as  naturally,  and  as  free  from  embarrassment, 
as  though  it  were  nothing  but  a  Roman  woman's  birthright. 

XXIX. 

In  the  meantime,  defeats  and  humiliations  were  begin- 
ning to  confuse  the  good  sense  of  the  French,  and  to  lead 
their  instincts  astray.  The  crowd  could  not  conceive  that 
such  things  could  come  about  naturally.  The  Prussians 
could  not  possibly  hav^e  won  by  honourable  means,  but  must 
have  been  spying  in  France  for  years.  Why  else  were  so 
many  Germans  settled  in  Paris!  The  French  were  paying 
now,  not  for  their  faults,  but  for  their  virtues,  the  good  faith, 
the  hospitality,  the  innocent  welcome  they  had  given  to 
treacherous  immigrants.  They  had  not  understood  that  the 
foreigner  from  the  North  was  a  crafty  and  deceitful  enemy. 

It  gradually  became  uncomfortable  for  a  foreigner  in 
Paris.  I  never  went  out  without  my  passport.  But  even 
a  passport  was  no  safeguard.  It  was  enough  for  some- 
one to  make  some  utterly  unfounded  accusation,  express 
some  foolish,  chance  suspicion,  for  the  non-Frenchman  to  be 
maltreated  as  a  "  spy."  Both  in  Metz  and  in  Paris,  in  the 
month  of  August,  people  who  were  taken  for  "  Prussians  " 
were  hanged  or  dismembered.  In  the  latter  part  of  August 
the  papers  reported  from  the  Dordogne  that  a  mob  there 
had  seized  a  young  man,  a  M.  de  Moneys,  of  whom  a  gang 
had  asserted  that  he  had  shouted  "  Vive  la  Prusse!  "  had 
stripped  him,  bound  him  with  ropes,  carried  him  out  into  a 
field,  laid  him  on  a  pile  of  damp  wood,  and  as  this  would  not 
take  fire  quick  enough,  had  pushed  trusses  of  straw  under- 
neath all  round  him,  and  burnt  him  alive.  From  the  Quar- 
t'ler  La  Vilette  in  Paris,  one  heard  every  day  of  similar 
slaughter  of  innocent  persons  who  the  people  fancied  were 
Prussian  spies.  Under  such  circumstances,  a  trifle  might  be- 
come fatal.     One  evening  at  the  end  of  August  I  had  been 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      299 

hearing  L'Africaine  at  the  grand  opera,  and  at  the  same  time 
Marie  Sass'  dehvery  of  the  Marseillaise — she  sang  as  though 
she  had  a  hundred  fine  bells  in  her  voice,  but  she  sang  the 
national  anthem  like  an  aria.  Outside  the  opera-house  I 
hailed  a  cab.  The  coachman  was  asleep;  a  man  jogged  him 
to  wake  him,  and  he  started  to  drive.  I  noticed  that  dur- 
ing the  drive  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  then  drove  on  for 
all  that  he  was  worth,  as  fast  as  the  harness  and  reins  would 
stand.  When  I  got  to  the  hotel  I  handed  him  his  fare  and  a 
four  sous'  tip.  Vlt  bawled  out  that  it  was  not  enough;  he 
had  been  de  remise;  he  had  taken  me  for  someone  else,  being 
waked  so  suddenly;  he  had  been  bespoken  by  another  gentle- 
man. I  laughed  and  replied  that  that  was  his  affair,  not 
mine;  what  had  it  got  to  do  with  me?  But  as  all  he  could 
demand,  if  he  had  really  been  de  remise,  was  two  sous  more, 
and  as,  under  the  ordinances  prevailing,  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  whether  he  was  or  not,  I  gave  him  the  two  sous,  but  no 
tip  with  it,  since  he  had  no  right  to  claim  it,  and  I  had  not 
the  slightest  doubt  that  he  was  lying.  Then  he  began 
to  croak  that  it  was  a  shame  not  to  give  a  poiirboire,  and,  see- 
ing that  did  not  help  matters,  as  I  simply  walked  up  the  hotel 
steps,  he  shouted  in  his  ill-temper,  first  "  Vons  nctes  pas 
Francais!  "  and  then  ''  Vous  etes  Prussien!  "  No  sooner  had 
he  said  it  than  all  the  hotel  servants  who  were  standing  in  the 
doorway  disappeared,  and  the  people  in  the  street  listened, 
stopped,  and  turned  round.  I  grasped  the  danger,  and  flew 
into  a  passion.  In  one  bound  I  was  in  the  road,  I  rushed 
at  the  cabman,  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  shook  my  hand, 
with  its  knuckle-duster  upon  it,  threateningly  at  his  head. 
Then  he  forgot  to  abuse  me  and  suddenly  whined :  "  Ne 
frappez  pas,  monsieur!  "  mounted  his  box,  and  drove  very 
tamely  away.  In  my  exasperation  I  called  the  hotel  waiters 
together  and  poured  scorn  on  them  for  their  cowardice. 

In  spite  of  the  season,  it  was  uncomfortable  weather, 
and  the  temper  of  the  town  was  as  uncomfortable  as  the 
weather.  As  time  went  on,  few  people  were  to  be  seen  about 
the  streets,  but  there  was  a  run  on  the  gunmakers'  and  sword- 
smiths'.  By  day  no  cheerful  shouts  or  songs  rang  out.  but 
children  of  six  or  seven  years  of  age  would  go  hand  in  hand 


300  REMINISCENCES 

In  rows  down  the  street  in  the  evenings,  singing  "  Moiirir 
pour  la  patrie,"  to  its  own  beautiful,  affecting  melody.  But 
these  were  the  only  gentle  sounds  one  heard.  Gradually,  the 
very  air  seemed  to  be  reeking  with  terror  and  frenzy.  Exas- 
peration rolled  up  once  more,  like  a  thick,  black  stream, 
against  the  Emperor,  against  the  ministers  and  generals,  and 
against  the  Prussians,  whom  people  thought  they  saw  every- 
where. 

XXX. 

Foreigners  were  requested  to  leave  Paris,  so  that,  in  the 
event  of  a  siege,  the  city  might  have  no  unnecessary  mouths 
to  feed.  Simultaneously,  in  Trochu's  proclamation,  It  was 
announced  that  the  enemy  might  be  outside  the  walls  in  three 
days.  Under  such  circumstances,  the  town  was  no  longer  a 
place  for  anyone  who  did  not  wish  to  be  shut  up  In  It. 

One  night  at  the  end  of  August,  I  travelled  from  Paris 
to  Geneva.  At  the  departure  station  the  thousands  of  Ger- 
man workmen  who  had  been  expelled  from  Paris  were  drawn 
up,  waiting,  herded  together  like  cattle, — a  painful  sight. 
These  workmen  were  Innocent  of  the  war,  the  defeats,  and 
the  spying  service  of  which  they  were  accused;  now  they  were 
being  driven  off  In  hordes,  torn  from  their  work,  deprived  of 
their  bread,  and  surrounded  by  inimical  lookers-on. 

As  it  had  been  said  that  trains  to  the  South  would  cease 
next  day,  the  Geneva  train  was  overfilled,  and  one  had  to  be 
well  satisfied  to  secure  a  seat  at  all.  My  travelling  compan- 
ions of  the  masculine  gender  were  very  unattractive :  an  Im- 
pertinent and  vulgar  old  Swiss  who,  as  It  was  a  cold  night, 
and  he  had  no  travelling-rug,  wrapped  himself  up  In  four  or 
five  of  his  dirty  shirts — a  most  repulsive  sight;  a  very  pre- 
cise young  Frenchman  who,  without  a  vestige  of  feeling  for 
the  fate  of  his  country  and  nation,  explained  to  us  that  he  had 
long  had  a  wish  to  see  Italy,  and  had  thought  that  now,  busi- 
ness being  in  any  case  at  a  standstill,  the  right  moment  had 
arrived. 

The  female  travellers  in  the  compartment  were  a  Paris- 
ian, still  young,  and  her  bright  and  charming  fifteen-year-old 
daughter,  whose  beauty  was  not  unlike  that  of  Mile.  Massin, 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      301 

the  lovely  actress  at  the  Theatre  dii  Gymnase.  Ihe  mother 
was  all  fire  and  flame,  and  raved,  almost  to  tears,  over  the 
present  pass,  cried  shame  on  the  cowardice  of  the  olHcers  for 
not  having  turned  out  the  Emperor;  her  one  brother  was  a 
prisoner  at  Konigsbcrg;  all  her  male  relations  were  in  the 
field.  The  daughter  was  terror-struck  at  the  thought  that 
the  train  might  be  stopped  by  the  enemy — which  was  re- 
garded as  very  likely — but  laughed  at  times,  and  was  divided 
between  fear  of  the  Prussians  and  exceeding  anxiety  to  see 
them:  ^^  J'aimerais  hien  poiivoir  dire  que  j'aie  vii  des 
Prussietis!  " 

At  one  station  some  soldiers  in  rout,  with  torn  and  dusty 
clothes,  got  into  our  carriage;  they  looked  repulsive,  bespat- 
tered with  mud  and  clay;  they  were  in  absolute  despair,  and 
you  could  hear  from  their  conversation  how  disorganised 
discipline  was,  for  they  abused  their  officers  right  and  left, 
called  them  incapable  and  treacherous,  yet  themselves  gave 
one  the  impression  of  being  very  indifferent  soldiers.  The 
young  sergeant  major  who  was  leading  them  was  the  only 
one  who  was  in  anything  like  spirits,  and  even  he  was  not 
much  to  boast  of.  It  was  curious  what  things  he  believed : 
Marshal  Leboeuf  had  had  a  Prussian  officer  behind  his  chair, 
disguised  as  a  waiter,  at  Metz,  and  it  had  only  just  been  dis- 
covered. Russia  had  lent  troops  to  Prussia,  and  put  them 
into  Prussian  uniforms;  otherwise  there  could  not  possibly  be 
so  many  of  them.  But  Rome,  too,  was  responsible  for  the 
misfortunes  of  France;  the  Jesuits  had  planned  it  all,  because 
the  country  was  so  educated;  they  never  liked  anybody  to 
learn  anything. 

After  Culoz  commenced  the  journey  through  the  lovely 
Jura  mountains.  On  both  sides  an  Immense  panorama  of 
high,  wooded  mountain  ridges,  with  poverty-stricken  little 
villages  along  the  mountain  sides.  At  Bellegarde  our 
passports  were  demanded;  no  one  was  allowed  to  cross 
the  frontier  without  them — a  stupid  arrangement.  The  Alps 
began  to  bound  our  view.  The  train  went  on,  now  through 
long  tunnels,  now  between  precipices,  now  again  over  a  rocky 
ridge,  whence  you  looked  down  into  the  valley  where  the 
blue-green  Rhone  wound  and  twined  Its  way  between  the 


302  REMINISCENCES 

rocks  like  a  narrow  ribbon.  The  speed  seemed  to  be  accel- 
erating more  and  more.  The  first  maize-field.  Slender 
poplars,  without  side-branches,  but  wholly  covered  with 
foliage,  stood  bent  almost  into  spirals  by  the  strong  wind 
from  the  chinks  of  the  rocks.     The  first  Swiss  house. 

XXXI. 

There  was  Geneva,  between  the  Alps,  divided  by  the 
southern  extremity  of  Lake  Leman,  which  was  spanned  by 
many  handsome  bridges.  In  the  centre,  a  little  isle,  with 
Rousseau's  statue.  A  little  beyond,  the  Rhone  rushed  froth- 
ing and  foaming  out  of  the  lake.  From  my  window  I 
could  see  in  the  distance  the  dazzling  snow  peak  of  Mont 
Blanc. 

After  Paris,  Geneva  looked  like  a  provincial  town.  The 
cafes  were  like  servants'  quarters  or  corners  of  cafes.  There 
were  no  people  in  the  streets,  where  the  sand  blew  up  in 
clouds  of  dust  till  you  could  hardly  see  out  of  your  eyes,  and 
the  roads  were  not  watered.  In  the  hotel,  in  front  of  the  mir- 
ror, the  New  Testament  in  French,  bound  in  leather;  you  felt 
that  you  had  come  to  the  capital  of  Calvinism. 

The  streets  in  the  old  part  of  the  town  were  all  up  and 
down  hill.  In  the  windows  of  the  booksellers'  shops  there 
were  French  verses  against  France,  violent  diatribes  against 
Napoleon  III.  and  outbursts  of  contempt  for  the  nation  that 
had  lost  its  virility  and  let  itself  be  cowed  by  a  tyrant.  By 
the  side  of  these,  portraits  of  the  Freethinkers  and  Liberals 
who  had  been  driven  from  other  countries  and  found  a  ref- 
uge in  Switzerland. 

I  sailed  the  lake  in  every  direction,  enraptured  by  its 
beauty  and  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  country.  Its  blue- 
ness,  to  which  I  had  never  seen  a  parallel,  altogether  charmed 
me  in  the  changing  lights  of  night  and  day.  On  the  lake  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  very  pleasant  Greek  family,  the 
first  I  had  encountered  anywhere.  The  eldest  daughter,  a 
girl  of  fourteen,  lost  her  hat.  I  had  a  new  silk  handkerchief 
packed  amongst  my  things,  and  offered  it  to  her.  She  ac- 
cepted it  and  bound  it  round  her  hair.     Her  name  was  Maria 


SECOND  LONGER  STyVY  AliROAl)  303 

Kumelas.  I  saw  for  the  first  time  an  absolutely  pure  Greek 
profile,  such  as  1  had  been  acquainted  with  hitherto  only  from 
statues.  One  perfect,  uninterrupted  line  ran  from  the  tip 
of  her  nose  to  her  hair. 

XXXII. 

I  went  for  excursions  into  Savoy,  ascended  La  Grande 
Saleve  on  donkey-back,  and  from  the  top  looked  down  at  the 
full  length  of  the  Leman. 

I  drove  to  the  valley  of  Chamounix,  sixty-eight  miles,  in 
a  diligence  and  four;  about  every  other  hour  we  had  relays 
of  horses  and  a  new  driver.  Whenever  possible,  we  went 
at  a  rattling  galop.  Half-way  I  heard  the  first  Italian.  It 
was  only  the  word  quattro;  but  it  filled  m_e  with  delight. 
Above  the  high,  wooded  mountains,  the  bare  rock  projected 
out  of  the  earth,  at  the  very  top.  The  wide  slopes  up  which 
the  wood  ascended,  until  it  looked  like  moss  on  stone,  af- 
forded a  view  miles  in  extent.  The  river  Arve.  twisting  it- 
self in  curves,  was  frequently  spanned  by  the  roadway;  it 
was  of  a  greyish  white,  and  very  rapid,  but  ugly.  Splendid 
wooden  bridges  were  thrown  over  it,  with  abysms  on  both 
sides.  Midway,  after  having  for  some  time  been  hidden  be- 
hind the  mountains,  Mont  Blanc  suddenly  appeared  in  its 
gleaming  splendour,  positively  tiring  and  paining  the  eye. 
It  was  a  new  and  strange  feeling  to  be  altogether  hemmed  in 
by  mountains.  It  was  oppressive  to  a  plain-dweller  to  be 
shut  In  thus,  and  not  to  be  able  to  get  away  from  the 
Immutable  sheet  of  snow,  with  Its  jagged  summits.  Along 
the  valley  of  the  stream,  the  road  ran  between  marvellously 
fresh  walnut-trees,  plane-trees,  and  avenues  of  apple  trees; 
but  sometimes  we  drove  through  valleys  so  narrow  that  the 
sun  only  shone  on  them  two  or  three  hours  of  the  day,  and 
there  it  was  cold  and  damp.  Savoy  was  plainly  enough  a 
poor  country.  The  grapes  were  small  and  not  sweet;  soil 
there  was  little  of,  but  every  patch  was  utilised  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage. In  one  place  a  mountain  stream  rushed  down  the 
rocks;  at  a  sharp  corner,  which  jutted  out  like  the  edge  of  a 
sloping  roof,  the  stream  was  split  up  and  transformed  Into 


304  REMINISCENCES 

such  fine  spray  that  one  could  perceive  no  water  at  all;  after- 
wards the  stream  united  again  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
and  emptied  itself  with  frantic  haste  into  the  river,  foaming 
greyish  white,  spreading  an  icy  cold  around.  The  changes 
of  temperature  were  striking.  Under  shelter,  hot  Summer, 
two  steps  further,  stern,  inclement  Autumn,  air  that  pene- 
trated to  the  very  marrow  of  your  bones.  You  ran  through 
every  season  of  the  year  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  other  travellers  were  English  people,  all  of  one  pat- 
tern, unchangeable,  immovable.  If  one  of  them  had  but- 
toned up  his  coat  at  the  beginning  of  the  drive,  he  did  not 
unbutton  it  on  the  way,  were  he  never  so  warm,  and  if  he 
had  put  leather  gloves  on,  for  ten  hours  they  would  not  be 
off  his  hands.  The  men  yawned  for  the  most  part ;  the  young 
ladies  jabbered.  The  English  had  made  the  whole  country 
subservient  to  them,  and  at  the  hotels  one  Englishman  in  this 
French  country  was  paid  more  attention  to  than  a  dozen 
Frenchmen. 

Here  I  understood  two  widely  different  poems :  Hauch's 
Swiss  Peasant,  and  Bjornson's  Over  the  Hills  and  Far  Away. 
Hauch  had  felt  this  scenery  and  the  nature  of  these  people,  by 
virtue  of  his  Norwegian  birth  and  his  gift  of  entering  into 
other  people's  thought;  Bjornson  had  given  unforgettable  ex- 
pression to  the  feeling  of  imprisoned  longing.  But  for  the 
man  who  had  been  breathing  street  dust  and  street  sweepings 
for  four  months,  it  was  good  to  breathe  the  strong,  pure  air, 
and  at  last  see  once  more  the  clouds  floating  about  and  beating 
against  the  mountain  sides,  leaning,  exhausted,  against  a  de- 
clivity and  resting  on  their  journey.  Little  children  of  eight 
or  ten  were  guarding  cattle,  children  such  as  we  know  so 
well  in  the  North,  when  they  come  with  their  marmots;  they 
looked,  without  exception,  like  tiny  rascals,  charming  though 
they  were. 

I  rode  on  a  mule  to  Montanvert,  and  thence  on  foot 
over  the  Mer  de  Glace,  clambered  up  the  steep  mountain  side 
to  Chapeau,  went  down  to  the  crystal  Grotto  and  rode  from 
there  back  to  Chamounix.  The  ride  up  in  the  early  hours  of 
the  morning  was  perfect,  the  mountain  air  so  light;  the  mists 
parted;  the  pine-trees  round  the  fresh  mountain  path  ex- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      305 

haled  a  penetrating  fragrance.  An  American  family  with 
whom  1  had  become  acquainted  took  three  guides  with  them 
for  four  persons.  One  worthy  old  gentleman  who  was 
travelling  with  his  young  daughter,  would  not  venture  upon 
this  feat  of  daring,  but  his  daughter  was  so  anxious  to 
accompany  us  that  when  I  offered  to  look  after  her  she  was 
entrusted  to  my  care.  I  took  two  mules  and  a  guide,  think- 
ing that  sufficient.  From  Montanvert  and  down  to  the  gla- 
cier, the  road  was  bad,  a  steep,  rocky  path,  with  loose,  rolling 
stones.  When  we  came  to  the  Ice  Sea,  the  young  lady,  as 
was  natural,  took  the  guide's  hand,  and  I,  the  last  of  the  car- 
avan, strode  cautiously  along,  my  alpenstock  in  my  hand, 
over  the  slippery,  billow-like  ice.  But  soon  it  began  to  split 
up  into  deep  crevasses,  and  farther  on  we  came  to  places 
where  the  path  you  had  to  follow  was  no  wider  than  a  few 
hands'  breadth,  with  yawning  precipices  in  the  ice  on  both 
sides.  I  grew  hot  to  the  roots  of  my  hair,  and  occasionally 
my  heart  stood  still.  It  was  not  that  I  was  actually  afraid. 
The  guide  shouted  to  me:  "  Look  neither  to  right  nor  left; 
look  at  your  feet,  and  turn  out  your  toes !  "  I  had  only  one 
thought — not  to  slip! — and  out  on  the  ice  I  grew  burningly 
hot.  When  at  last  I  was  across,  I  noticed  that  I  was  shaking. 
Strangely  enough,  I  was  trembling  at  the  thought  of  the  blue, 
gaping  crevasses  on  both  sides  of  me,  down  which  I  had 
barely  glanced,  and  yet  I  had  passed  them  without  a  shudder. 
The  beginning  of  the  crossing  had  been  comparatively  easy; 
it  was  only  that  at  times  it  was  very  slippery.  But  in  the 
middle  of  the  glacier,  progress  was  very  uncomfortable;  mo- 
raines, and  heaps  of  gigantic  blocks  lay  in  your  path,  and  all 
sorts  of  stone  and  gravel,  which  melted  glaciers  had  brought 
down  with  them,  and  these  were  nasty  to  negotiate.  When 
at  last  you  had  them  behind  you,  came  le  Mauvaiis  Pas,  which 
corresponded  to  its  name.  You  climbed  up  the  precipitous 
side  of  the  rock  with  the  help  of  an  iron  railing  drilled  into  it. 
But  foothold  was  narrow  and  the  stone  damp,  from  the  num- 
l)er  of  rivulets  that  rippled  and  trickled  down.  Finally  it 
was  necessary  at  every  step  to  let  go  the  railing  for  a  few 
seconds.  The  ascent  then,  and  now,  was  supposed  to  be  quite 
free  from  danger,  and  the  view  over  the  glaciers  which  one 


3o6  REMINISCENCES 

gained  by  it,  was  a  fitting  reward  for  the  inconvenience. 
Even  more  beautiful  than  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  itself, 
with  its  rounded  contours,  were  the  steep,  gray,  rocky  peaks, 
with  ice  in  every  furrow,  that  are  called  I' Aiguille  dii  Dm. 
These  mountains,  which  as  far  as  the  eye  could  range  seemed 
to  be  all  the  same  height,  although  they  varied  from  7,000 
to  14,800  feet,  stretched  for  miles  around  the  horizon. 

The  ice  grotto  here  was  very  different  from  the  sky-blue 
glacier  grotto  into  which  I  had  wandered  two  years  earlier 
at  Grindelwald.  Here  the  ice  mass  was  so  immensely  high 
that  not  the  slightest  peep  of  daylight  penetrated  through  it 
into  the  excavated  archway  that  led  into  the  ice.  It  was 
half-dark  inside,  and  the  only  light  proceeded  from  a  row  of 
little  candles  stuck  into  the  crevices  of  the  rock.  The  ice 
was  jet  black  in  colour,  the  light  gleaming  with  a  golden 
sheen  from  all  the  rounded  projections  and  jagged  points. 
It  was  like  the  gilt  ornamentation  on  a  velvet  pall. 

When  I  returned  from  Chamounix  to  Geneva,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  hotel  was  standing  in  the  doorway  and  shouted 
to  me:  "  The  whole  of  the  French  army,  with  the  Empe- 
ror, has  been  taken  prisoner  at  Sedan!  " — "  Impossible!  "  I 
exclaimed.  "  It  is  quite  certain,"  he  replied;  "  it  was  in  the 
German  telegrams,  and  so  far  there  has  not  come  a  single  un- 
veracious  telegram  from  the  Germans." 

The  next  day  a  Genevese  paper  published  the  news  of 
the  proclamation  of  the  Republic  in  France. 

Simultaneously  arrived  a  letter  from  Julius  Lange,  at- 
tacking me  for  my  "  miserly  city  politics,"  seriously  com- 
plaining that  "  our  declaration  of  war  against  Prussia  had 
come  to  nothing,"  and  hoping  that  my  stay  in  France  had  by 
now  made  me  alter  my  views. 

In  his  opinion,  we  had  neglected  "  an  opportunity  of  re- 
bellion, that  would  never  recur." 

XXXIII. 

Lake  Leman  fascinated  me.  All  the  scenery  round 
looked  fairy-like  to  me,  a  dream  land,  in  which  mighty  moun- 
tains cast  their  blue-black  shadows  down  on  the  turquoise 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      307 

water,  beneath  a  brilliant,  sparkling  sunshine  that  saturated 
the  air  with  its  colouring.  JVly  impressions  of  Lausanne, 
Chillon,  Vevey,  Montreux,  were  recorded  in  the  first  of  my 
lectures  at  the  University  the  following  year.  The  instru- 
ments of  torture  at  Chillon,  barbaric  and  fearsome  as  they 
were,  made  me  think  of  the  still  worse  murderous  instru- 
ments being  used  in  the  war  between  France  and  Germany. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  if  one  could  see  war  at  close  quarters, 
one  would  come  to  regard  the  earth  as  peopled  by  dangerous 
lunatics.  Political  indifference  to  human  life  and  human 
suffering  had  taken  the  place  of  the  premeditated  cruelty  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  Still,  if  no  previous  war  had  ever  been 
so  frightful,  neither  had  there  ever  been  so  much  done  to 
mitigate  suffering.  While  fanatic  Frenchwomen  on  the  bat- 
tlefields cut  the  noses  off  -wounded  Germans,  and  mutilated 
them  when  they  could,  and  while  the  Germans  were  burn- 
ing villages  and  killing  their  peaceful  Inhabitants,  If  one 
of  them  had  so  much  as  fired  a  shot,  In  all  quietness  the 
great  societies  for  the  care  of  the  wounded  were  doing  their 
work.  And  In  this  Switzerland  especially  bore  the  palm. 
There  were  two  currents  then,  one  Inhuman  and  one  hu- 
mane, and  of  the  two,  the  latter  will  one  day  prove  Itself  the 
stronger.  Lender  Louis  XIV.  war  was  still  synonymous  with 
unlimited  plundering,  murder,  rape,  thievery  and  robbery. 
Under  Napoleon  I.  there  were  still  no  such  things  as  am- 
bulances. The  wounded  were  carted  away  now^  and  again 
in  waggons,  piled  one  on  the  top  of  each  other,  If  any  wag- 
gons were  to  be  had;  If  not,  they  were  left  as  they  lay,  or 
were  flung  Into  a  ditch,  there  to  die  in  peace.  Things  were 
certainly  a  little  better. 

XXXIV. 

In  Geneva,  the  news  reached  me  that — In  spite  of  a 
promise  Hall,  as  Minister,  had  given  to  Hauch,  when  the 
latter  asked  for  It  for  me — I  was  to  receive  no  allowance 
from  the  Educational  Department.  To  a  repetition  of  the 
request,  Hall  had  replied:  "  I  have  made  so  many  prom- 
ises and  half-promises,   that  it  has  been  impossible  to  re- 


3o8  REMINISCENCES 

member  or  to  keep  them."  This  disappointment  hit  me 
rather  hard;  I  had  in  all  only  about  £50  left,  and  could  not 
remain  away  more  than  nine  weeks  longer  without  getting 
into  debt,  I,  who  had  calculated  upon  staying  a  whole  year 
abroad.  Circumstances  over  which  I  had  no  control  later 
obliged  me,  however,  to  remain  away  almost  another  year. 
But  that  I  could  not  foresee,  and  I  had  no  means  whatever 
to  enable  me  to  do  so.  Several  of  my  acquaintances  had 
had  liberal  allowances  from  the  Ministry;  Kriegcr  and  Mar- 
tensen  had  procured  Heegaard  £225  at  once,  when  he  had 
been  anxious  to  get  away  from  Rasmus  Nielsen's  influence. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  this  refusal  to  give  me  anything  augured 
badly  for  the  appointment  I  was  hoping  for  in  Denmark. 
I  could  only  earn  a  very  little  with  my  pen:  about  115.  3^. 
for  ten  folio  pages,  and  as  I  did  not  feel  able,  while  trav- 
elling, to  write  anything  of  any  value,  I  did  not  attempt  it. 
It  was  with  a  sort  of  horror  that,  after  preparing  for  long 
travels  that  were  to  get  me  out  of  the  old  folds,  I  thought 
of  the  earlier,  narrow  life  I  had  led  in  Copenhagen.  All 
the  old  folds  seemed,  at  this  distance,  to  have  been  the  folds 
of  a  strait-waistcoat. 

XXXV. 

With  abominable  slowness,  and  very  late,  "  on  account 
of  the  war,"  the  train  crawled  from  Geneva,  southwards. 
Among  the  travellers  was  a  rhetorical  Italian  master-mason, 
from  Lyons,  an  old  Garibaldist,  the  great  event  of  whose 
life  was  that  Garibaldi  had  once  taken  lunch  alone  with  him 
at  Varese.  He  preserved  in  his  home  as  a  relic  the  glass 
from  which  the  general  had  drunk.  He  was  talkative,  and 
ready  to  help  everyone ;  he  gave  us  all  food  and  drink  from 
his  provisions.  Other  travellers  told  that  they  had  had  to 
stand  in  queue  for  fully  twelve  hours  in  front  of  the  ticket 
office  in  Paris,  to  get  away  from  the  town. 

The  train  passed  the  place  where  Rousseau  had  lived, 
at  Madame  de  Warens'.  In  an  official  work  on  Savoy,  writ- 
ten by  a  priest,  I  had  recently  read  a  summary  dismissal  of 
Rousseau,  as  a  calumniator  of  his  benefactress.     According 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      309 

to  this  author,  it  certainly  looked  as  though,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  Rousseau's  memory  had  failed  him  amazingly  some- 
times. The  book  asserted,  for  instance,  that  the  Claude 
of  whom  he  speaks  was  no  longer  alive  at  the  time  when 
he  was  supposed  to  be  enjoying  Madame  de  Warens' 
favours. 

We  passed  French  volunteers  In  blouses  bearing  a  red 
cross;  they  shouted  and  were  in  high  good  humour;  passed 
fen  districts,  where  numbers  of  cretins,  with  their  hideous  ex- 
crescences, sat  by  the  wayside.  At  last  we  arrived, — several 
hours  behind  time, — at  St.  Michel,  at  the  foot  of  Mont 
Cenis;  it  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  was 
beginning  to  feel  tired,  for  I  had  been  up  since  four 
in  the  morning.  At  five  o'clock  we  commenced  the  ascent, 
to  the  accompaniment  of  frightful  groanings  from  the  en- 
gine; all  the  travellers  were  crowded  together  in  three 
wretched  little  carriages,  the  small  engine  not  being  able  to 
pull  more.  Gay  young  French  girls  exulted  at  the  idea  of 
seeing  "  Italy's  fair  skies."  They  were  not  particularly  fair 
here;  the  weather  was  rough  and  cloudy,  in  keeping  with 
abysms  and  mountain  precipices.  But  late  at  night 
the  journey  over  Mont  Cenis  was  wonderful.  High  up 
on  the  mountain  the  moonlight  gleamed  on  the  moun- 
tain lake.  And  the  way  was  dominated,  from  one  rocky 
summit,  by  the  castle  of  Bramans  with  its  sev^en  impos- 
ing forts. 

The  locomotive  stopped  for  an  hour,  for  want  of  water. 
We  were  thus  obliged  to  sleep  at  the  little  Italian  town  of 
Susa  (in  a  glorious  valley  under  Mont  Cenis),  the  train  to 
Turin  having  left  three  hours  before.  Susa  was  the  first 
Italian  town  I  saw.  When  the  train  came  in  next  morning 
to  the  station  at  Turin,  a  crowd  of  Italian  soldiers,  who 
were  standing  there,  shouted:  *'  The  Prussians  for  ever!  " 
and  winked  at  me.  "  What  are  they  shouting  for?  "  I  asked 
a  young  Turin  fellow  with  whom  I  had  had  some  long  con- 
versations. '*  It  is  an  ovation  to  you,"  he  replied.  "  Peo- 
ple are  delighted  at  the  victory  of  the  Prussians,  and  they 
think  you  are  a  Prussian,  because  of  your  fair  moustache 
and  beard." 


310  REMINISCENCES 

XXXVI. 

An  overwhelming  impression  was  produced  upon  me  by 
the  monuments  of  Turin,  the  River  Po,  and  the  lovely  glee- 
singing  in  the  streets.  For  the  first  time,  I  saw  colonnades, 
with  heavy  curtains  to  the  street,  serve  as  pavements,  with 
balconies  above  them.  Officers  in  uniforms  gleaming  with 
gold,  ladies  with  handkerchiefs  over  their  heads  instead  of 
hats,  the  mild  warmth,  the  brown  eyes,  brought  it  home  to 
me  at  every  step  that  I  was  in  a  new  country. 

I  hurried  up  to  Costanza  Blanchetti.  Madame  la 
comtesse  est  a  la  campagne.  Monsieur  le  comte  est  sorti. 
Next  morning,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  room  in  the  Hotel 
Trombetta,  Blanchetti  rushed  In,  pressed  me  to  his  bosom, 
kissed  me  on  both  cheeks,  would  not  let  me  go,  but  Insisted 
on  carrying  me  off  with  him  to  the  countrv'. 

We  drove  round  the  town  first,  then  went  by  rail 
to  Alpignano,  where  Costanza  was  staying  with  a  relative  of 
the  family.  Count  BugllonI  dl  Monale.  Here  I  was  re- 
ceived like  a  son,  and  shown  straight  to  my  room,  where 
there  stood  a  little  bed  with  silk  hangings,  and  where,  on 
the  pillow,  there  lay  a  little,  folded-up  thing,  likewise  of 
white  silk,  which  was  an  enigma  to  me  till,  on  unfolding  It, 
I  found  it  was  a  night-cap,  the  classical  night-cap,  tapering 
to  a  point,  which  you  see  at  the  theatre  In  old  comedies. 
The  Bugllonis  were  gentle,  good-natured  people,  rugged  and 
yet  refined,  an  old,  aristocratic  country  gentleman  and  his 
wife.  Nowhere  have  I  thought  grapes  so  heavy  and  sweet 
and  aromatic  as  there.  The  perfume  from  the  garden  was 
so  strong  and  fragrant.  Impossible  to  think  of  a  book  or  a 
sheet  of  paper  at  Alpignano.  We  walked  under  the  trees, 
lay  among  the  flowers,  enjoyed  the  sight  and  the  flavour  of 
the  apricots  and  grapes,  and  chatted,  expressing  by  smiles 
our  mutual  quiet,  deep-reaching  sympathy. 

One  evening  I  went  into  Turin  with  Blanchetti  to  see 
the  play.  The  lover  In  La  Dame  aiix  CameUas  was  played 
by  a  young  Italian  named  Lavaggi,  as  handsome  as  an  An- 
tlnous,  a  type  which  I  often  encountered  in  Piedmont.  With 
his  innate  charm,  restful  calm,  animation  of  movement  and 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD      311 

the  6rc  of  his  beauty,  he  surpassed  the  acting  of  all  the  young 
lovers  1  had  seen  on  the  boards  of  the  French  theatres. 
The  very  play  of  his  fingers  was  all  grace  and  expression. 

XXXVII. 

On  my  journey  from  Turin  to  Milan,  I  had  the  mighty 
Mont  Rosa,  with  its  powerful  snow  mass,  and  the  St.  Ber- 
nard, over  which  Buonaparte  led  his  tattered  troops,  before 
my  eyes.  We  went  across  maize  fields,  through  thickets, 
over  the  battlefield  of  Magenta.  From  reading  Beyle,  I 
had  pictured  Milan  as  a  beautiful  town,  full  of  free  delight 
in  life.  Only  to  see  it  would  be  happmess.  And  it  was, — 
the  cupola  gallery,  the  dome,  from  the  roof  of  which,  im- 
mediately after  my  arrival,  1  looked  out  over  the  town,  shin- 
ing under  a  pure,  dark-blue  sky.  In  the  evening,  in  the  pub- 
lic gardens,  I  revelled  in  the  beauty  of  the  Milanese  women. 
Italian  ladies  at  that  time  still  wore  black  lace  over  their 
heads  instead  of  hats.  Their  dresses  were  open  in  front, 
the  neck  being  bare  half-way  down  the  chest.  I  was  struck 
by  the  feminine  type.  Upright,  slender-waisted  women; 
delicate,  generally  bare  hands;  oval  faces,  the  eyebrows  of 
an  absolutely  perfect  regularity;  narrow  noses,  well  formed, 
the  nostrils  curving  slightly  upwards  and  outwards — the 
models  of  Leonardo  and  Luini. 

The  Last  Supper,  in  the  church  of  St.  Maria  delle  Gra- 
zie,  and  the  drawings  in  the  Ambrose  Library,  brought  me 
closer  to  Leonardo  than  I  had  ever  been  able  to  get  before, 
through  reproductions;  I  saw  the  true  expression  in  the  face 
of  the  Christ  in  the  Last  Supper,  which  copies  cannot  avoid 
distorting. 

XXXVIII. 

A  violent  affection  for  Correggio,  and  a  longing  to  see 
his  works  where  they  are  to  be  found  in  greatest  number, 
sent  me  to  Parma. 

I  reached  the  town  at  night;  no  gas,  no  omnibus  from 
any  hotel.  An  out-porter  trotted  with  my  portmanteau  on 
his    back    through    wide,    pitch-dark,    deserted,    colonnaded 


312  REMINISCENCES 

streets,  past  huge  palaces,  until,  after  half  an  hour's  rapid 
walk,  we  arrived  at  the  hotel.  The  day  before  my  arrival 
dall  'Ongaro  had  unveiled  the  beautiful  and  beautifully  situ- 
ated statue  of  Correggio  in  the  Market  Square.  I  first  In- 
vestigated the  two  domes  in  the  Cathedral  and  San  Gio- 
vanni Evangelista,  then  the  ingratiating  pictorial  decoration 
of  the  convent  of  San  Paolo.  In  the  Museum,  where  I  was 
pretty  well  the  only  visitor,  I  was  so  eagerly  absorbed  In 
studying  Correggio  and  jotting  down  my  impressions,  that, 
in  order  to  waste  no  time,  I  got  the  attendant  to  buy  my 
lunch,  and  devoured  it, — bread,  cheese,  and  grapes, — In  the 
family's  private  apartments.  They  were  pleasant,  obliging 
people,  and  as  I  bought  photographs  for  a  considerable 
amount  from  them,  they  were  very  hospitable.  They  talked 
politics  to  me  and  made  no  secret  of  their  burning  hatred 
for  France. 

There  were  other  things  to  see  at  Parma  besides  Cor- 
reggio, although  for  me  he  dominated  the  town.  There 
.was  a  large  exhibition  of  modern  Italian  paintings  and  stat- 
uary, and  the  life  of  the  people  In  the  town  and  round  about. 
In  the  streets  stood  carts  full  of  grapes.  Four  or  five  fel- 
lows with  bare  feet  would  stamp  on  the  grapes  In  one  of 
these  carts;  a  trough  led  from  the  cart  down  to  a  vat,  into 
which  the  juice  ran,  flinging  off  all  dirt  In  fermentation. 

It  was  pleasant  to  walk  round  the  old  ramparts  of 
the  town  In  the  evening  glow,  and  It  was  lively  in  the  ducal 
park.  One  evening  little  knots  of  Italian  soldiers  were  sit- 
ting there.  One  of  them  sang  In  a  superb  voice,  another 
accompanied  him  very  nicely  on  the  lute;  the  others  listened 
with  profound  and  eager  attention. 

XXXIX. 

After  this  came  rich  days  in  Florence.  Everything 
was  a  delight  to  me  there,  from  the  granite  paving  of  the 
streets,  to  palaces,  churches,  galleries,  and  parks.  I  stood 
in  reverence  before  the  Medici  monuments  in  Michael  An- 
gelo's  sanctuary.  The  people  attracted  me  less;  the  women 
seemed  to  me  to  have  no  type  at  all,  compared  with  the 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD       313 

lovely  faces  and  forms  at  Milan  and  Parma.     The  fleas  at- 
tracted me  least  of  all. 

Dall  'Ongaro  received  every  Sunday  evening  quite 
an  international  company,  and  conversation  consequently 
dragged.  With  the  charming  Japanese  wife  of  the  Eng- 
lish consul,  who  spoke  only  English  and  Japanese,  neither 
of  her  hosts  could  exchange  a  word.  There  were  Dutchmen 
and  Swiss  there  with  their  ladies;  sugar-sweet  and  utterly 
affected  young  Italian  men;  handsome  young  painters  and  a 
few  prominent  Italian  scientists,  one  of  whom,  in  the  fu- 
ture, was  to  become  my  friend. 

I  had  a  double  recommendation  to  the  Danish  Minister 
at  Florence,  from  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs,  and  from 
an  old  and  intimate  friend  of  his  in  Copenhagen.  When  I 
presented  my  letters,  he  exclaimed,  in  annoyance:  "These 
special  recommendations  again !  How  often  must  I  explain 
that  they  are  unnecessary,  that  all  Danes,  as  such,  are  wel- 
come to  my  house!" — This  was  the  delicate  manner  In 
which  he  let  me  understand  that  he  was  not  Inclined  to  do 
anything  whatever  for  me.  Moreover,  he  began  at  once 
with  regrets  that  his  family  were  absent,  so  that  he  was  not 
in  housekeeping,  and  could  not  entertain  anyone. 

At  a  production  of  Emile  Augier's  Le  Fib  de  Giboyer, 
at  which  all  the  foreign  diplomatists  were  present,  he,  too, 
turned  up.  While  the  other  diplomatists  greeted  each  other 
silently  with  a  nod,  he  made  more  of  the  meeting  than  any 
one  else  did,  went  from  place  to  place  In  the  stalls,  shook 
hands,  spoke  French,  German,  English  and  Italian  by  turns, 
was  all  things  to  all  men,  then  came  and  sat  down  by  me, 
made  himself  comfortable,  and  In  a  moment  was  fast  asleep. 
When  he  began  to  snore,  one  after  another  of  his  colleagues 
turned  their  heads,  and  smiled  faintly.  He  slept  through 
two  acts  and  the  Intervals  between  them.  In  spite  of  the 
voices  from  the  stage  and  the  loud  talking  between  the  acts, 
and  woke  up  In  the  middle  of  the  third  act,  to  mumble  In  my 
ear,  "  It  Is  not  much  pleasure  to  see  the  piece  played  like 
this." 

At  my  favourite  restaurant,  Trattoria  dclV  antiche  car- 
rozze,  I  was  one  day  witness  to  a  violent  dispute  between  a 


314  REMINISCENCES 

Polish  noble  who,  for  political  reasons,  had  fled  from  Rus- 
sian Poland,  and  Hans  Semper,  a  Prussian,  author  of  a  book 
on  Donatello.  The  latter  naturally  worshipped  Bismarck, 
the  former  warmly  espoused  the  cause  of  Denmark.  When 
I  left,  I  said  politely  to  him: 

"  I  thank  you  for  having  so  warmly  defended  my  coun- 
try; I  am  a  Dane."  The  next  day  the  Pole  came  to  look 
for  me  at  the  restaurant,  and  a  closer  acquaintance  re- 
sulted. We  went  for  many  walks  together  along  the  river- 
side; he  talking  like  a  typical  Polish  patriot,  I  listening  to 
his  dreams  of  the  resuscitated  Poland  that  the  future  was  to 
see.  I  mention  this  only  because  it  affords  an  example  of 
the  remarkable  coincidences  life  brings  about,  which  make 
one  so  easily  exclaim :  "  How  small  the  world  is !  "  This 
Pole  became  engaged  several  years  afterwards  to  a  young 
Polish  girl  and  left  her,  without  any  explanation,  having 
got  entangled  with  a  Russian  ballet  dancer.  I  made  her  ac- 
quaintance at  Warsaw  fifteen  years  after  I  had  met  him  at 
Florence.  She  was  then  twenty-six  years  of  age,  and  is  one 
of  the  women  who  have  taught  me  most;  she  told  me  the 
story  of  her  early  youth  and  of  the  unengaging  part  my  ac- 
quaintance of  1870  had  played  in  it. 

At  Florence  I  saw  Rossi  as  Hamlet.  The  performance 
was  a  disappointment  to  me,  inasmuch  as  Rossi,  with  his 
purely  Italian  nature,  had  done  away  with  the  essentially 
English  element  in  Hamlet.  The  keen  English  humour,  in 
his  hands,  became  absurd  and  ridiculous.  Hamlet's  hesi- 
tation to  act,  he  overlooked  altogether.  Hamlet,  to  him, 
was  a  noble  young  man  who  was  grieved  at  his  mother's  ill- 
behaviour.  The  details  he  acted  like  a  virtuoso.  For 
instance,  it  was  very  effective  during  the  mimic  play,  when, 
lying  at  Ophelia's  feet,  he  crushes  her  fan  in  his  hands  at  the 
moment  when  the  King  turns  pale.  I  derived  my  chief  en- 
joyment, not  from  the  acting,  but  from  the  play.  It  sud- 
denly revealed  itself  to  me  from  other  aspects,  and  I  fell 
prostrate  in  such  an  exceeding  admiration  for  Shakespeare 
that  I  felt  I  should  never  rise  again.  It  was  touching  to 
hear  the  Italians'  remarks  on  Hamlet.  The  piece  was  new 
to  them.     You  frequently  heard  the  observation :     "  It  is  a 


SECOND   LOXGl':i>^   STAY  ABROAD  315 

very  philosophical  piece."  As  people  changed  from  place 
to  place,  and  sat  wherever  they  liked,  I  overheard  many 
different  people's  opinions  of  the  drama.  Ihe  suicide 
monologue  affected  these  fresh  and  alert  minds  very 
powerfully. 

That  evening,  moreover,  I  had  occasion  to  observe  hu- 
man cowardice,  which  is  never  accounted  so  great  as  it  really 
is.  There  was  a  noise  behind  the  scene  during  the  perform- 
ance, and  Immediately  afterwards  a  shout  of  Fuocof  The 
audience  were  overmastered  by  terror.  More  than  half  of 
them  rushed  to  the  doors,  pulled  each  other  down,  and 
trampled  on  the  fallen.  In  their  endeavours  to  get  out  quickly 
enough ;  others  rushed  up  on  the  stage  itself.  As  there  was 
not  the  least  sign  of  fire  visible,  I  of  course  remained  in  my 
seat.  A  few  minutes  later  one  of  the  actors  came  forward 
and  explained  that  there  had  been  no  fire;  a  fight  between 
two  of  the  scene-shifters  had  been  the  cause  of  all  the 
alarm.  The  good-humoured  Italians  did  not  even  resent 
the  fellows  having  thus  disturbed  and  interrupted  the 
performance. 

John  Stuart  Mill  had  given  me  an  Introduction  to  Pas- 
quale  Vlllari,  who,  even  at  that  time,  was  cnmmendatore 
professore,  and  held  a  high  position  on  the  Board  of  Edu- 
cation, but  was  still  far  from  having  attained  the  zenith  of 
his  fame  and  influence.  When  the  reserve  of  the  first  few 
days  had  worn  off,  he  was  simply  splendid  to  me.  When 
anything  I  said  struck  him  as  being  to  the  point,  he  pressed 
my  hands  with  all  the  ardour  of  youth,  and  he  applauded 
every  joke  I  attempted  with  uproarious  laughter. 

Some  twenty  years  were  to  elapse  before  I  saw  him 
again.  Then  he  called  upon  me  In  Copenhagen,  wishing  to 
make  my  acquaintance,  without  In  the  least  suspecting  that  I 
was  the  young  man  who,  so  long  before,  had  come  to  him 
from  Mill.  He  looked  with  amazement  at  books  In  which 
he  had  written  with  his  own  hand,  and  at  old  letters  from 
himself  which  T  produced.  T  visited  him  again  in  1898.  His 
books  on  Machlavelll  and  Savonarola  entitle  him  to  rank 
among  the  foremost  students  and  exponents  of  Italy. 

I  went  one  day  to  the  great  annual   fair  at  Flesole. 


3t6  reminiscences 

Shouting  and  shrieking,  the  people  drove  down  the  unspeak- 
ably dusty  road  with  such  haste,  carelessness  and  high  spirits 
that  conveyances  struck  against  each  other  at  every  mo- 
ment. It  was  the  life  represented  in  Marstrand's  old-time 
pictures.  In  crowded  Fiesole,  I  saw  the  regular  Tuscan 
country  type,  brown  eyes,  yellow  or  clear,  white  skin,  thin, 
longish  face,  brown  or  fair,  but  never  black  hair,  strong, 
healthy  bodies.  The  masculine  type  with  which  I  was  ac- 
quainted from  the  soldiers,  was  undeniably  handsomer  than 
our  own,  in  particular,  was  more  intelligent;  the  young 
women  were  modest,  reserved  in  their  manner,  seldom  en- 
tered into  conversation  with  the  men,  and  despite  the  fire 
in  their  eyes,  manifested  a  certain  peasant  bashfulness,  which 
seems  to  be  the  same  everywhere. 

XL. 

Vines  twine  round  the  fruit-trees;  black  pigs  and  their 
families  make  their  appearance  in  tribes;  the  lake  of  Thrasy- 
mene,  near  which  Hannibal  defeated  the  Romans,  spreads 
itself  out  before  us.  The  train  is  going  from  Florence  to 
Rome.  Towards  mid-day  a  girl  enters  the  carriage,  appar- 
ently English  or  North  American,  with  brown  eyes  and 
brown  hair,  that  curls  naturally  about  her  head;  she  has  her 
guitar-case  in  her  hand,  and  flings  it  up  into  the  net.  Her 
parents  follow  her.  As  there  is  room  in  the  compartment 
for  forty-eight  persons  without  crowding,  she  arranges  places 
for  her  parents,  and  after  much  laughter  and  joking  the 
latter  settle  off  to  sleep.  The  Italians  stare  at  her;  but  not 
I.  I  sit  with  my  back  to  her.  She  sits  down,  back  to 
back  with  me,  then  turns  her  head  and  asks  me,  in  Italian, 
some  question  about  time,  place,  or  the  like.  I  reply  as  best 
I  can.  She  (in  English):  "You  are  Italian?"  On  my 
reply,  she  tells  me :  "I  hardly  know  twenty  words  in  Ital- 
ian; I  only  speak  English,  although  I  have  been  living  in 
Rome  for  two  years." 

She  then  went  on  to  relate  that  she  was  an  American, 
born  of  poor  parents  out  on  the  Indian  frontier;  she  was 
twenty-six  years  old,  a  sculptor,  and  was  on  her  way  from 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  317 

Carrara,  where  she  had  been  superintending  the  shipment  of 
one  of  her  works,  a  statue  of  Lincoln,  which  the  Congress  at 
Washington  had  done  her  the  honour  of  ordering  from 
her.  It  was  only  when  she  was  almost  grown  up  that  her 
talent  had  been  discovered  by  an  old  sculptor  who  happened 
to  pay  a  visit  and  who,  when  he  saw  her  drawing,  had,  half 
in  jest,  given  her  a  lump  of  clay  and  said:  "  Do  a  portrait 
of  me!  "  She  had  then  never  seen  a  statue  or  a  painting, 
but  she  evinced  such  talent  that  before  long  several  distin- 
guished men  asked  her  to  do  busts  of  them,  amongst  others, 
Lincoln.  She  was  staying  at  his  house  that  14th  April, 
1865,  when  he  was  murdered,  and  was  consequently  selected 
to  execute  the  monument  after  his  death.  She  hesitated  for 
a  long  time  before  giving  up  the  modest,  but  certain,  position 
she  held  at  the  time  in  a  post-office;  but,  as  others  believed 
in  her  talent,  she  came  to  Europe,  stayed  first  in  Paris,  where, 
to  her  delight,  she  made  the  acquaintance  of  Gustave  Dore, 
and  where  she  modelled  a  really  excellent  bust  of  Pere  Hya- 
cinthe,  visited  London,  Berlin,  Munich,  Florence,  and  set- 
tled down  in  Rome.  There  she  received  plenty  of  orders, 
had,  moreover,  obtained  permission  to  execute  a  bust  of 
Cardinal  Antonelli,  was  already  much  looked  up  to,  and 
well-to-do.      In  a  few  weeks  she  was  returning  to  America. 

As  she  found  pleasure  in  talking  to  me,  she  exclaimed 
without  more  ado:  "I  will  stay  with  you,"  said  a  few  po- 
lite things  to  me,  and  made  me  promise  that  I  would  travel 
with  her  to  Rome  from  the  place  where  we  were  obliged  to 
leave  the  train,  the  railway  having  been  broken  up  to  pre- 
vent the  Italian  troops  entering  the  Papal  States.  At  Treni 
a  Danish  couple  got  into  the  train,  a  mediocre  artist  and  his 
wife,  and  with  national  astonishment  and  curiosity  watched 
the  evident  intimacy  between  the  young  foreigner  and  my- 
self, concerning  which  every  Scandinavian  in  Rome  was  in- 
formed a  few  days  later. 

From  Monte  Rotondo,  where  the  bridge  had  been 
blown  up,  we  had  to  walk  a  long  distance,  over  bad  roads, 
and  were  separated  in  the  throng,  but  she  kept  a  place  for 
me  by  her  side.  Thus  I  drove  for  the  first  time  over  the 
Roman  Campagna,  by  moonlight,  with  two  brown  eyes  gaz- 


3i8  REMINISCENCES 

Ing  into  mine.  I  felt  as  though  I  had  met  one  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott's  heroines,  and  won  her  confidence  at  our  first 
meeting. 

XLI. 

Vinnie  Ream  was  by  no  means  a  Scott  heroine,  however, 
but  a  genuine  American,  and  doubly  remarkable  to  me  as  be- 
ing the  first  specimen  of  a  young  woman  from  the  United 
States  with  whom  I  became  acquainted.  Even  after  I  had 
seen  a  good  deal  of  her  work,  I  could  not  feel  wholly  attracted 
by  her  talent,  which  sometimes  expressed  itself  rather  in  a  pic- 
torial than  a  plastic  form,  and  had  a  fondness  for  emotional 
effects.  But  she  was  a  true  artist,  and  a  true  woman,  and  I 
have  never,  in  any  woman,  encountered  a  will  like  hers.  She 
was  uninterruptedly  busy.  Although,  now  that  the  time  of 
her  departure  was  so  near,  a  few  boxes  were  steadily  being 
packed  every  day  at  her  home,  she  received  every  day  visits 
from  between  sixteen  and  twenty-five  people,  and  she  had  so 
many  letters  by  post  that  I  often  found  three  or  four  un- 
opened ones  amongst  the  visiting  cards  that  had  been  left. 
Those  were  what  she  had  forgotten,  and  If  she  had  read 
them,  she  had  no  time  to  reply  to  them.  Every  day  she  sat 
for  a  few  hours  to  the  clever  American  painter  Healy,  who 
was  an  admirer  of  her  talent,  and  called  her  abilities  genius. 
Every  day  she  worked  at  Antonelli's  bust.  To  obtain  per- 
mission to  execute  it,  she  had  merely,  dressed  in  her  most 
beautiful  white  gown,  asked  for  an  audience  of  the  dreaded 
cardinal,  and  had  at  once  obtained  permission.  Her  intrepid 
manner  had  impressed  the  hated  statesman  of  the  political 
and  ecclesiastical  reaction,  and  in  her  representation  of  him 
he  appeared,  too,  in  many  respects  nobler  and  more  refined 
than  he  was  But  besides  modelling  the  cardinal's  bust,  she 
put  the  finishing  touches  to  two  others,  saw  to  her  parents' 
household  affairs  and  expenses,  and  found  time  every  day 
to  spend  a  few  hours  with  me,  either  in  a  walk  or  wandering 
about  the  different  picture-galleries. 

She  maintained  the  family,  for  her  parents  had  nothing 
at  all.  But  when  the  statue  of  Lincoln  had  been  ordered 
from   her.    Congress   had   immediately   advanced   ten   thou- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  319 

sand  dollars.  So  she  was  able  to  live  free  from  care,  though 
for  that  matter  she  troubled  not  at  all  about  money.  She 
was  very  ignorant  of  things  outside  her  own  field,  and 
the  words  my  work  were  the  only  ones  that  she  spoke 
with  passion.  What  she  knew,  she  had  acquired  prac- 
tically, through  travel  and  association  with  a  multiplicity 
of  people.  She  hardly  knew  a  dozen  words  of  any  language 
besides  English,  and  was  only  acquainted  with  English  and 
American  writers;  of  poets,  she  knew  Shakespeare  and  Byron 
best;  from  life  and  books  she  had  extracted  but  few  general 
opinions,  but  on  the  other  hand,  very  individual  personal 
views.  These  were  based  upon  the  theory  that  the  lesser 
mind  must  always  subordinate  itself  to  the  higher,  and  that 
the  higher  has  a  right  to  utilise  freely  the  time  and  strength 
of  the  lesser,  without  being  called  to  account  for  doing  so. 
She  herself  was  abjectly  modest  towards  the  artists  she  looked 
up  to.  Other  people  might  all  wait,  come  again,  go  away 
without  a  reply. 

Rather  small  of  stature,  strong  and  healthy, — she  had 
never  been  ill,  never  taken  medicine, — with  white  teeth 
and  red  cheeks,  quick  in  everything,  when  several  people 
were  present  she  spoke  only  little  and  absently,  was  as  cold, 
deliberate  and  composed  as  a  man  of  strong  character;  but 
at  the  same  time  she  was  unsuspecting  and  generous,  and  in 
spite  of  her  restlessness  and  her  ambitious  industry,  ingrati- 
atingly coquettish  towards  anyone  whose  affection  she  wished 
to  win.  It  was  amusing  to  watch  the  manner  In  which  she 
despatched  the  dutifully  sighing  Italians  who  scarcely  crossed 
the  threshold  of  her  studio  before  they  declared  themselves. 
She  replied  to  them  with  a  superabundance  of  sound  sense 
and  dismissed  them  with  a  jest. 

One  day  that  I  went  to  fetch  her  to  the  Casino 
Borghese,  I  found  her  dissolved  in  tears.  One  of  the  two 
beautiful  doves  who  flew  about  the  house  and  perched  on  her 
shoulders,  and  which  she  had  brought  with  her  from  Wash- 
ington, had  disappeared  in  the  night.  At  first  I  thought 
that  her  distress  was  half  jest,  but  nothing  could  have  been 
more  real;  she  was  beside  herself  with  grief.  I  realised 
that  if  philologians  have  disputed  as  to  how  far  Catullus* 


320  REMINISCENCES 

poem  of  the  girl's  grief  over  the  dead  sparrow  were  jest  or 
earnest,  it  was  because  they  had  never  seen  a  girl  weep  over 
a  bird.  Catullus,  perhaps,  makes  fun  a  little  of  the  grief, 
but  the  grief  itself,  in  his  poem  too,  is  serious  enough. 

In  the  lovely  gardens  of  the  Villa  Borghese,  Vinnie 
Ream's  melancholy  frame  of  mind  was  dispersed,  and  we  sat 
for  a  long  time  by  one  of  the  handsome  fountains  and  talked, 
among  other  things,  of  our  pleasure  in  being  together,  which 
pleasure  was  not  obscured  by  the  prospect  of  approaching 
parting,  because  based  only  on  good-fellowship,  and  with 
no  erotic  element  about  it.  Later  in  the  evening,  she  had 
forgotten  her  sorrow  altogether  in  the  feverish  eagerness 
with  which  she  worked,  and  she  kept  on,  by  candle-light, 
until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

A  poor  man,  an  Italian,  who  kept  a  little  hotel,  came 
in  that  evening  for  a  few  minutes;  he  sometimes  translated 
letters  for  Vinnie  Ream.  As  he  had  no  business  with  me, 
I  did  not  address  any  of  my  remarks  to  him ;  she,  on  the  con- 
trary, treated  him  with  extreme  kindness  and  the  greatest  re- 
spect, and  whispered  to  me :  "  Talk  nicely  to  him,  as  you 
would  to  a  gentleman,  for  that  he  is;  he  knows  four  lan- 
guages splendidly;  he  is  a  talented  man.  Take  no  notice  of 
his  plain  dress.  We  Americans  do  not  regard  the  position, 
but  the  man,  and  he  does  honour  to  his  position."  I  had  not 
been  actuated  by  the  prejudices  she  attributed  to  me,  never- 
theless  entered  into  conversation  with  the  man,  as  she  wished, 
and  listened  with  pleasure  to  his  sensible  opinions.  (He 
spoke,  among  other  things,  of  Northern  art,  and  warmly 
praised  Carl  Bloch's  Prometheus.) 

XLII. 

Vinnie  Ream's  opinion  of  me  was  that  I  was  the  most 
impolitic  man  that  she  had  ever  known.  She  meant,  by  that, 
that  I  was  always  falling  out  with  people  (for  instance,  I 
had  at  once  offended  the  Danes  in  Rome  by  some  sharp 
words  about  the  wretched  Danish  papers),  and  in  general 
made  fewer  friends  and  more  enemies  all  the  time.  She 
herself    won    the    affection    of    everyone    she    wished,    and 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  321 

made  everyone  ready  to  spring  to  do  her  bidding.  She 
pointed  out  to  me  how  politic  sh,;  had  had  to  be  over 
her  art.  When  she  had  wished  to  become  a  sculptor, 
everyone  in  her  native  place  had  been  shocked  at  the  un- 
femininity  of  it,  and  people  fabled  behind  her  back  about 
her  depraved  instincts.  She,  for  her  part,  exerted  no  more 
strength  than  just  enough  to  carry  her  point,  let  people 
talk  as  much  as  they  liked,  took  no  revenge  on  those  who 
spread  calumnies  about  her,  showed  the  greatest  kindliness 
even  towards  the  evil-disposed,  and  so,  she  said,  had  not  an 
enemy.  There  was  in  her  a  marvellous  commingling  of  de- 
termination to  progress  rapidly,  of  self-restraint  and  of  real 
good-heartedness. 

On  October  20th  there  was  a  great  festival  in  Rome 
to  celebrate  the  first  monthly  anniversary  of  the  entry  of  the 
Italians  into  the  town.  Young  men  went  in  the  evening 
with  flags  and  music  through  the  streets.  Everybody  rushed 
to  the  windows,  and  the  ladles  held  out  lamps  and  candles. 
In  the  time  of  the  popes  this  was  only  done  when  the  Host 
was  being  carried  in  solemn  procession  to  the  dying; 
it  was  regarded  therefore  as  the  greatest  honour  that  could 
be  paid.  Everyone  clapped  hands  and  uttered  shouts  of  de- 
light at  the  improvised  illumination,  while  the  many  beauti- 
ful women  looked  lovely  In  the  flickering  lamplight.  The 
23d  again  was  a  gala  day,  being  the  anniversary  of  ^the  death 
of  Enrico  Calroll — one  of  the  celebrated  brothers;  he  fell 
at  Mentana; — and  I  had  promised  VInnle  Ream  to  go  to 
see  the  fete  w^ith  her;  but  she  as  usual  having  twenty  call- 
ers just  when  we  ought  to  have  started,  we  arrived  too  late. 
Vinnie  begged  of  me  to  go  with  her  Instead  to  the  Ameri- 
can chapel;  she  must  and  would  sing  hymns,  and  really  did 
sing  them  very  well. 

The  chapel  was  bare.  On  the  walls  the  ten  command- 
ments and  a  few  other  quotations  from  Holy  Writ,  and 
above  a  small  altar,  "  Do  this  In  remembrance  of  me,"  In 
Gothic  lettering.  I  had  to  endure  the  hymns,  the  sermon 
(awful),  and  the  reading  aloud  of  the  ten  commandments, 
with  muttered  protestations  and  Amens  after  each  one  from 
the  reverent  Americans.     When  we  went  out  I  said  noth- 


322  REMINISCENCES 

Ing,  as  I  did  not  know  whether  VInnie  might  not  be  some- 
what moved,  for  she  sang  at  the  end  with  great  emo- 
tion. However,  she  merely  took  my  arm  and  exclaimed: 
*'  That  minister  was  the  most  stupid  donkey  I  have  ever 
heard  in  my  life;  but  it  is  nice  to  sing."  Then  she  began  a 
refutation  of  the  sermon,  which  had  hinged  chiefly  on  the 
words:  "  Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee,"  and  of  the  unspeak- 
able delight  it  should  be  to  hear  this.  Vinnie  thought  that 
no  rational  being  would  give  a  fig  for  forgiveness,  unless 
there  followed  with  it  a  complete  reinstatement  of  previous 
condition.  What  am  I  benefitted  if  ever  so  many  heavenly 
beings  say  to  me:  "  I  pretend  you  have  not  done  it  "  if  I 
know  that  I  have ! 

The  last  week  in  October  we  saw  marvellous  Northern 
Lights  in  Rome.  The  northern  half  of  the  heavens,  about 
nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  turned  a  flaming  crimson,  and 
white  streaks  traversed  the  red,  against  which  the  stars  shone 
yellow,  while  every  moment  bluish  flashes  shot  across  the 
whole.  When  I  discovered  it  I  went  up  to  the  Reams'  and 
fetched  Vinnie  down  into  the  street  to  see  it.  It  was  an  in- 
credibly beautiful  atmospheric  phenomenon.  Next  evening 
it  manifested  itself  again,  on  a  background  of  black  clouds, 
and  that  was  the  last  beautiful  sight  upon  which  Vinnie  and 
I  looked  together. 

Next  evening  I  wrote : 

Vinnie  Ream  leaves  to-morrow  morning;  I  said  goodbye  to  her  this 
evening.  Unfortunately  a  great  many  people  were  there.  She  took  my 
hand  and  said:  "I  wish  you  everything  good  in  the  world,  and  I  know 
that  you  wish  me  the  same."  And  then:  Good-bye.  A  door  opens,  and  a 
door  closes,  and  people  never  meet  again  on  this  earth,  never  again,  never — 
and  human  language  has  never  been  able  to  discover  any  distinction  between 
good-bye  for  an  hour,  and  good-bye  forever.  People  sit  and  chat,  smile  and 
jest.  Then  you  get  up,  and  the  story  is  finished.  Over!  over!  And  that  is 
the  end  of  all  stories,  says  Andersen. 

All  one's  life  one  quarrels  with  people  as  dear  to  one  as  Ploug  is  to  me. 
I  have  a  well-founded  hope  that  I  may  see  Rudolph  Schmidt's  profile  again 
soon,  and  a  hundred  times  again  after  that;  but  Vinnie  I  shall  never  set- 
again. 

I  did  not  understand  her  at  first;  I  had  a  few  unpleasant  conjectures 
ready.  I  had  to  have  many  conversations  with  her  before  I  understood  her 
ingenuousness,  her  ignorance,  her  thorough  goodness,  in  short,  all  her  simple 
healthiness  of  soul.     Over! 

When  I  was  teasing  her  the  other  day  about  all  the  time  I  had  wasted 
in  her  company,  she  replied:  "People  do  not  ivaste  tim'!  ivith  their  friends," 
and  when  I  exclaimed:     "What  do  I  get  from  you?"  she  answered,  laugh- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  323 

ing:  "Inspiration."  And  that  was  the  truth.  Those  great  brown  eyes,  the 
firm  eyebrows,  the  ringleted  mass  of  chestnut  brown  hair  and  the  fresli 
inuutli — ail  this  that  1  still  remember,  but  perhaps  in  three  months  shall  no 
longer  be  able  to  recall,  the  quick  little  figure,  now  commanding,  now  depre- 
cating, is  to  me  a  kind  of  inspiration.  I  have  never  been  in  love  with  Vinnie; 
but  most  people  would  think  so,  to  hear  the  expressions  I  am  now  using.  But 
I  love  her  as  a  friend,  as  a  mind  akin  to  my  own.  There  were  thoughts  of 
our  brains  and  strings  of  our  hearts,  which  always  beat  in  unison.  Peace 
be  with  her!  May  the  cursed  world  neither  rend  her  nor  devour  her;  may 
she  die  at  last  with  the  clear  forehead  she  has  now!  _  am  grateful  to  iier. 
She  has  communicated  to  me  a  something  good  and  simple  that  one  cannot  see 
too  much  of  and  that  one  scarcely  ever  sees  at  all.  Finally,  she  has  shown 
me  again  the  spectacle  of  a  human  being  en'irely  happy,  and  good  be- 
cause happy,  a  soul  without  a  trace  of  bitterness,  an  intellect  whose  work  is  not 
a  labour. 

It  is  not  that  Vinnie  is — or  rather  was,  since  she  is  dead  for  me — an  edu- 
cated girl  in  the  Copenhagen  sense  of  the  word.  The  verdict  of  the  Danish 
educational  establishments  upon  her  would  be  that  she  was  a  deplorably  un- 
educated girl.  She  was  incomprehensibly  dull  at  languages.  She  would  be 
childishly  amused  at  a  jest  or  joke  or  compliment  as  old  as  the  hills  (such  as 
the  Italians  were  fond  of  using),  and  think  it  new,  for  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  European  storehouse  of  stereotyped  remarks  and  salted  drivel.  Her  own 
conversation  was  new;  a  breath  of  the  independence  of  the  great  Republic 
swept  through  it.  She  was  no  fine  lady,  she  was  an  American  ^irl,  who  had 
not  attained  her  rank  by  birth,  or  through  inherited  riches,  but  had  fought 
for  it  herself  with  a  talent  that  had  made  its  way  to  the  surface  without 
early  training,  through  days  and  nights  of  industry,  and  a  mixture  of  enthusi- 
asm and  determination. 

She  was  vain  ;  she  certainly  was  that.  But  again  like  a  child,  delighted 
at  verses  in  her  honour  in  the  American  papers,  pleased  at  homage  and  marks 
of  distinction,  but  far  more  ambitious  than  vain  of  personal  advantages.  She 
laughed  when  we  read  in  the  papers  of  Vinnie  Ream,  that,  in  spite  of  tlie 
ill-fame  creative  lady  artists  enjoy,  far  from  being  a  monster  with  green  eyes, 
she  ventured  to  be  beautiful. 

She  was  a  good  girl.  There  was  a  certain  deep  note  about  all  that  her 
heart  uttered.  She  had  a  mind  of  many  colours.  And  there  was  the  very 
devil  of  a  rush  and  Forward!  March!  about  her,  aht:ays  in  a  hurry. 

And  now — no  Roman  elegy — I  will  hide  her  away  in  my  memory: 

Here  lies 

Vinnie  Ream 

Sculptor 

of  Washington,  U.  S.  A. 

Six-and-twenty  years  of   age 

This  recollection  of  her  is  retained  by 

One  who  knew  her 

for  seventeen  days 

and  will  never  forget  her. 

I  have  really  never  seen  Vinnie  Ream  since.  We 
exchanged  a  few  letters  after  her  departure,  and  the  rest  was 
silence. 

Her  statue  of  Abraham  Lincoln  stands  now  in  a  ro- 
tunda on  the  Capitol,  for  which  it  was  ordered.  Later,  a 
Congress  Commitee  ordered  from  her  a  statue  of  Admiral 


324  REMINISCENCES 

Farragut,  which  is  likewise  erected  in  Washington.  These 
are  the  only  two  statues  that  the  government  of  the  United 
States  has  ever  ordered  from  a  woman.  Other  statues  of 
hers  which  I  have  seen  mentioned  bear  the  names  of  Miriam, 
The  West,  Sappho,  The  Spirit  of  Carnival,  etc.  Further 
than  this,  I  only  know  that  she  married  Richard  L.  Hoxie, 
an  engineer,  and  only  a  few  years  ago  was  living  in 
Washington. 

XLIII. 

It  was  a  real  trouble  to  me  that  the  Pope,  in  his  exas- 
peration over  the  conquest  of  Rome — in  order  to  make  the 
accomplished  revolution  recoil  also  on  the  heads  of  the  for- 
eigners whom  he  perhaps  suspected  of  sympathy  with  the 
new  order  of  things — had  closed  the  Vatican  and  all  its  col- 
lections. Rome  was  to  me  first  and  foremost  Michael  An- 
gelo's  Sistine  Chapel,  Raphael's  Stanzas  and  Loggias,  and 
now  all  this  magnificent  array,  which  I  had  travelled  so  far 
to  see,  was  closed  to  me  by  an  old  man's  bad  temper. 

But  there  was  still  enough  to  linger  over  in  Rome. 
The  two  palaces  that  seemed  to  me  most  deserving  of  admi- 
ration were  the  Farnese  and  the  Cancellaria,  the  former  Mi- 
chael Angelo's,  the  latter  Bramante's  work,  the  first  a  per- 
petuation in  stone  of  beauty  and  power,  the  second,  of  grace 
and  lightness.  I  felt  that  if  one  were  to  take  a  person  with 
no  idea  of  architecture  and  set  him  in  front  of  these  build- 
ings, there  would  fall  like  scales  from  his  eyes,  and  he  would 
say:     "  Now  I  know  what  the  building  art  means." 

Luini's  exquisite  painting.  Vanity  and  Modesty,  in  the 
Galleria  Sciarra,  impressed  me  profoundly.  It  represented 
tw^o  women,  one  nun-like,  the  other  magnificently  dressed. 
The  latter  is  Leonardo's  well-known  type,  as  a  magically 
fascinating  personality.  Its  essential  feature  is  a  profoundly 
serious  melancholy,  but  the  beauty  of  the  figure  is  seductive. 
She  is  by  no  means  smiling,  and  yet  she  look's  as  though 
a  ver}'  slight  alteration  would  produce  a  smile,  and  as  though 
the  heavens  themselves  would  open,  if  smile  she  did.  The 
powerful  glance  of  the  dark  blue  eyes  is  in  harmony  with  the 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  325 

light-brown  hair  and  the  lovely  hands.  "  It  would  be  ter- 
rible to  meet  in  real  life  a  woman  who  looked  like  that,"  1 
wrote;  "  for  a  man  would  grow  desperate  at  his  inability 
to  win  her  and  desperate  because  the  years  must  destroy 
such  a  marvel.  That  is  why  the  gracious  gods  have  willed 
it  otherwise;  that  is  why  she  does  not  exist.  That  is  why 
she  is  only  a  vision,  a  revelation,  a  painting,  and  that  is  why 
she  was  conceived  in  the  brain  of  Leonardo,  the  place  on 
earth  most  favoured  by  the  gods,  and  executed  by  Luini,  that 
all  generations  might  gaze  at  her  without  jealousy,  and  with- 
out dread  of  the  molestations  of  Time." 

One  day,  at  the  Museo  Kircheriano,  where  I  was  look- 
ing at  the  admirable  antiquities,  I  made  acquaintance  with  a 
Jesuit  priest,  who  turned  out  to  be  exceedingly  pleasant  and 
refined,  a  very  decent  fellow,  in  fact.  He  spoke  Latin  to 
me,  and  showed  me  round;  at  an  enquiry  of  mine,  he  fetched 
from  his  quarters  in  the  Collegio  Romano  a  book  with  repro- 
ductions from  the  pagan  section  of  the  Lateran  Museum, 
and  explained  to  me  some  bas-reliefs  which  I  had  not  under- 
stood. His  obligingness  touched  me,  his  whole  attitude 
made  me  think.  Hitherto  I  had  only  spoken  to  one  solitary 
embryo  Jesuit, — a  young  Englishman  who  was  going  to 
Rome  to  place  himself  at  the  service  of  the  Pope,  and  who 
was  actuated  by  the  purest  enthusiasm;  I  was  struck  by  the 
fact  that  this  second  Jesuit,  too,  seemed  to  be  a  worthy  man. 
It  taught  me  how  independent  Individual  worth  is  of  the 
nature  of  one's  convictions. 

Most  of  the  Italians  I  had  so  far  been  acquainted  with 
were  simple  people,  my  landlord  and  his  family,  and  those 
who  visited  them,  and  I  sometimes  heard  fragments  of  con- 
versation which  revealed  the  common  people's  mode  of 
thought  to  me.  In  one  house  that  I  visited,  the  mistress  dis- 
covered that  her  maid  was  not  married  to  her  so-called  hus- 
band, a  matter  In  which,  for  that  matter,  she  was  very  blame- 
less, since  her  parents  had  refused  their  consent,  and  she  had 
afterwards  allowed  herself  to  be  abducted.  Her  mistress 
reproached  her  for  the  Illegal  relations  existing.  She  replied, 
*'  If  God  wishes  to  plunge  anyone  into  misery,  that  person 
IS  excused." — "  We  must  not  put  the  blame  of  everything 


326  REMINISCENCES 

upon  God,"  said  the  mistress. — "  Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  girl 
unabashed;  "  then  if  the  Devil  wishes  to  plunge  a  person  into 
misery,  the  person  is  excused." — "  Nor  may  we  put  the 
blame  of  our  wrongdoing  on  the  Devil,"  said  the  mistress. — 
"  Good  gracious,"  said  the  girl,  "  it  must  be  the  fault  of  one 
or  other  of  them,  everybody  knows  that.  If  it  is  not  the 
one,  it  is  the  other." 

At  the  house  of  the  Blanchettis,  who  had  come  to 
Rome,  I  met  many  Turin  and  Roman  gentlemen.  They 
were  all  very  much  taken  up  by  an  old  Sicilian  chemist  of  the 
name  of  Muratori,  who  claimed  that  he  had  discovered  a 
material  which  looked  like  linen,  but  was  impervious  to  bul- 
lets, sword-cuts,  bayonet-thrusts,  etc.  Blanchetti  himself  had 
fired  his  revolver  at  him  at  two  paces,  and  the  ball  had  fallen 
flat  to  the  ground.  There  could  be  no  question  of  juggling; 
Muratori  was  an  honourable  old  Garibaldist  who  had  been 
wounded  in  his  youth,  and  now  went  about  on  crutches,  but, 
since  we  have  never  heard  of  its  being  made  practical  use  of, 
it  would  seem  that  there  was  nothing  in  it. 

I  did  not  care  to  look  up  all  the  Italians  to  whom  I  had 
introductions  from  Villari.  But  I  tried  my  luck  with  a  few 
of  them.  The  first  was  Dr.  Pantaleoni,  who  had  formerly 
been  banished  from  the  Papal  States  and  who  left  the  coun- 
try as  a  radical  politician,  but  now  held  almost  conservative 
views.  He  had  just  come  back,  and  complained  bitterly  of 
all  the  licentiousness.  "  Alas!  "  he  said,  "  we  have  freedom 
enough  now,  but  order,  order !  "  Pantaleoni  was  a  little, 
eager,  animated  man  of  fifty,  very  much  occupied,  a  poli- 
tician and  doctor,  and  he  promised  to  introduce  me  to  all  the 
scholars  whose  interests  I  shared.  As  I  felt  scruples  at 
taking  up  these  gentlemen's  time,  he  exclaimed  wittily:  "  My 
dear  fellow,  take  up  their  time!  To  take  his  time  is  the 
greatest  service  you  can  render  to  a  Roman;  he  never  knows 
what  to  do  to  kill  it!  " 

The  next  man  I  went  to  was  Prince  Odescalchi,  one  of 
the  men  who  had  then  recently  risen  to  the  surface,  officially 
termed  the  hero  of  the  Young  Liberals.  Pantaleoni  had 
dubbed  him  a  blockhead,  and  he  had  not  lied.  He  turned 
out  to  be  a  very  conceited  and  frothy  young  man  with  a 


I 
SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  327 

parting  all  over  his  head,  fair  to  whiteness,  of  strikingly 
Northern  type,  with  exactly  the  same  expressionless  type  of 
face  as  certain  of  the  milksops  closely  connected  with  the 
Court  in  Denmark. 

XLIV. 

There  were  a  great  many  Scandinavians  in  Rome;  they 
foregathered  at  the  various  eating-houses  and  on  a  Saturday 
evening  at  the  Scandinavian  Club.  Some  of  them  were 
painters,  sculptors  and  architects,  with  their  ladies,  there 
were  some  literary  and  scientific  men  and  every  description 
of  tourists  on  longer  or  shorter  visits  to  the  Eternal  City. 
I  held  myself  aloof  from  them.  Most  of  them  had  their 
good  qualities,  but  they  could  not  stand  the  test  of  any  asso- 
ciation which  brought  them  into  too  close  contact  with  one 
another,  as  life  in  a  small  town  does.  They  were  divided 
up  into  camps  or  hives,  and  in  every  hive  ruled  a  lady  who 
detested  the  queen  bee  of  the  next  one.  So  it  came  about 
that  the  Scandinavians  lived  in  perpetual  squabbles,  could 
not  bear  one  another,  slandered  one  another,  intrigued 
against  one  another.  When  men  got  drunk  on  the  good 
Roman  wine  at  the  osterie,  they  abused  one  another  and  very 
nearly  came  to  blows.  Moreover,  they  frequently  got 
drunk,  for  most  of  them  lost  their  self-control  after  a  few 
glasses.  Strangely  enough,  in  the  grand  surroundings,  too 
much  of  the  Northern  pettiness  came  to  the  surface  in  them. 
One  was  continually  tempted  to  call  out  to  the  ladies,  in  Hol- 
berg's  words:  "  Hold  your  peace,  you  good  women!  "  and 
to  the  men  :  "  Go  away,  you  rapscallions,  and  make  up  your 
quarrels !  " 

There  were  splendid  young  fellows  among  the  artists, 
but  the  painters,  who  were  in  the  majority,  readily  admitted 
that  technically  they  could  learn  nothing  at  all  in  Rome, 
where  they  never  saw  a  modern  painting;  they  said  them- 
selves that  they  ought  to  be  in  Paris,  but  the  authorities  in 
Christiania  and  Copenhagen  were  afraid  of  Paris:  thence 
all  bad  and  dangerous  influences  proceeded,  and  so  the  paint- 
ers still  journey  to  Rome,  as  their  fathers  did  before  them. 


328  REMINISCENCES 

XLV. 

Towards  the  middle  of  November  the  Pope  opened  the 
Vatican.  But  in  face  of  the  enormous  conflux  of  people, 
it  was  not  easy  to  get  a  permesso  from  the  consul,  and  that 
could  not  be  dispensed  with.  I  had  just  made  use  of  one 
for  the  Vatican  sculpture  collection,  one  day,  when  I  felt 
very  unwell.  I  ascribed  my  sensations  at  first  to  the  insuf- 
ferable weather  of  that  month,  alternately  sirocco  and  cold 
sleet,  or  both  at  once ;  then  I  was  seized  with  a  dread  of  the 
climate,  of  Rome,  of  all  these  strange  surroundings,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  home  as  quickly  as  possible.  The 
illness  that  was  upon  me  was,  without  my  knowing  it,  the 
cause  of  my  fear.  The  next  day  I  was  carried  downstairs 
by  two  vile-smelling  labourers  and  taken  by  Vilhelm  Rosen- 
stand  the  painter,  who  was  one  of  the  few  who  had  made 
friends  with  me  and  shown  me  kindness,  to  the  Prussian  hos- 
pital on  the  Tarpeian  Rock,  near  the  Capitol. 

Here  a  bad  attack  of  typhoid  fever  held  me  prisoner 
in  my  bed  for  some  few  months,  after  a  compatriot,  who  had 
no  connection  whatever  with  me,  had  been  so  inconsiderate 
as  to  inform  my  parents  by  telegraph  how  ill  I  was,  and  that 
there  was  little  hope  for  me. 

The  first  month  I  was  not  fully  conscious;  I  suffered 
from  a  delusion  of  coercion.  Thus  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
left  side  of  my  bed  did  not  belong  to  me,  but  to  another 
man,  who  sometimes  took  the  place;  and  that  I  myself  was 
divided  into  several  persons,  of  which  one,  for  instance, 
asked  my  legs  to  turn  a  little  to  the  one  side  or  the  other. 
One  of  these  persons  was  Imperialist,  and  for  that  reason 
disliked  by  the  others,  who  were  Republicans:  nevertheles*;, 
he  performed  great  kindnesses  for  them,  making  them  more 
comfortable,  when  it  was  in  his  power.  Another  strangely 
fantastic  idea  that  held  sway  for  a  long  time  was  that  on 
my  head,  the  hair  of  which  had  been  shorn  by  the  hospital 
attendant  rather  less  artistically  than  one  cuts  a  dog's,  there 
was  a  clasp  of  pearls  and  precious  stones,  which  I  felt  but 
could  not  see. 

Afterwards,  all  my  delusions  centred  on  food. 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  329 

I  was  very  much  neglected  at  the  hospital.  The  attend- 
ance was  wretched.  Ihe  highly  respected  German  doctor, 
who  was  appointed  to  the  place,  had  himself  an  immense 
practice,  and  moreover  was  absolutely  taken  up  by  the 
Franco-Prussian  war.  Consequently,  he  hardly  ever  came, 
sometimes  stayed  away  as  long  as  thirteen  days  at  a  stretch, 
during  all  which  time  a  patient  who  might  happen  to  be  suf- 
fering, say,  from  constipation,  must  lie  there  without  any 
means  of  relief.  My  bed  was  as  hard  as  a  stone,  and  I  was 
waked  in  the  night  by  pains  in  my  body  and  limbs;  the  pillow 
was  so  hard  that  the  skin  of  my  right  ear  was  rubbed  off  from 
the  pressure.  There  were  no  nurses.  There  was  only  one 
custodian  for  the  whole  hospital,  a  Russian  fellow  who  spoke 
German,  and  who  sometimes  had  as  many  as  fourteen  pa- 
tients at  a  time  to  look  after,  but  frequently  went  out  to  buy 
stores,  or  visit  his  sweetheart,  and  then  all  the  patients  could 
ring  at  once  without  any  one  coming.  After  I  had  passed  the 
crisis  of  my  illness,  and  consequently  began  to  suffer  terribly 
from  hunger,  I  was  ordered  an  egg  for  my  breakfast;  I 
sometimes  had  to  lie  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  pining  for  this 
egg.  Once,  for  three  days  in  succession,  there  were  no  fresh 
eggs  to  be  had.  So  he  would  bring  for  my  breakfast  noth- 
ing but  a  small  piece  of  dry  bread.  One  day  that  I  was  posi- 
tively 111  with  hunger,  I  begged  repeatedly  for  another  piece 
of  bread,  but  he  refused  it  me.  It  was  not  malice  on  his 
part,  but  pure  stupidity,  for  he  was  absolutely  incapable  of 
understanding  how  I  felt.  And  to  save  fuel,  he  let  me  suf- 
fer from  cold,  as  well  as  from  hunger;  would  never  put  more 
than  one  wretched  little  stick  at  a  time  into  the  stove.  Every- 
thing was  pinched  to  an  incredible  extent.  Thus  it  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  get  a  candle  in  the  evening  before  it  was 
absolutely  dark,  and  then  never  more  than  one,  although  it 
made  my  eyes  water  to  try  to  read.  Candies  and  firing,  it 
appears,  were  not  put  down  in  the  bill.  And  yet  this  hos- 
pital is  kept  up  on  subscriptions  from  all  the  great  Powers, 
so  there  must  be  someone  into  whose  pockets  the  money  goes. 
Most  of  us  survived  it;  a  few  died  who  possibly  might  have 
been  kept  alive;  one  was  preserved  for  whom  the  Danish 
newspapers  have  beautiful  obituaries  ready. 


330  REMINISCENCES 

Over  my  head,  in  the  same  'building,  there  lived  a  well- 
known  German  archaeologist,  who  was  married  to  a  Rus- 
sian princess  of  such  colossal  physical  proportions  that  Ro- 
man popular  wits  asserted  that  when  she  wished  to  go  for  a 
drive  she  had  to  divide  herself  between  two  cabs.  This 
lady  had  a  great  talent  for  music.  I  never  saw  her,  but 
I  became  aware  of  her  in  more  ways  than  one:  whenever 
she  crossed  the  floor  on  the  third  story,  the  ceiling  shook, 
and  the  boards  creaked,  in  a  manner  unbearable  to  an 
invalid.  And  just  when  I  had  settled  myself  off,  and  badly 
wanted  to  sleep,  towards  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  the  heavy 
lady  above  would  sit  down  at  her  grand  piano,  and  make 
music  that  would  have  filled  a  concert  hall  resound  through 
the  place. 

Alter  a  month  had  passed,  the  doctor  declared  that  I 
had  "  turned  the  corner,"  and  might  begin  to  take  a  little 
food  besides  the  broth  that  up  till  then  had  been  my  only 
nourishment.  A  little  later,  I  was  allowed  to  try  to  get  up. 
I  was  so  weak  that  I  had  to  begin  to  learn  to  walk  again;  I 
could  not  support  myself  on  my  legs,  but  dragged  myself, 
with  the  help  of  the  custodian,  the  four  or  five  steps  from 
the  bed  to  a  sofa. 

Just  at  this  time  I  received  two  letters  from  Copen- 
hagen, containing  literary  enquiries  and  offers.  The  first 
was  from  the  editor  of  the  Illustrated  Times,  and  enquired 
whether  on  my  return  home  I  would  resume  the  theatrical 
criticisms  in  the  paper;  in  that  case  they  would  keep  the  posi- 
tion open  for  me.  I  gave  a  negative  reply,  as  1  was  tired  of 
giving  my  opinion  on  the  Danish  drama.  The  second  letter, 
which  surprised  me  more,  was  from  the  editor  of  the,  at  that 
time,  powerful  Dally  Paper,  Steen  Bille,  offering  me  the 
entire  management  of  the  paper  after  the  retirement  of  Mol- 
bech,  except  so  far  as  politics  were  concerned,  the  editor  nat- 
urally himself  retaining  the  latter.  As  Danish  things  go,  it 
was  a  very  important  offer  to  a  young  man.  It  promised 
both  influence  and  Income,  and  it  was  only  my  profound  and 
ever-Increasing  determination  not  to  give  myself  up  to  jour- 
nalism that  made  me  without  hesitation  dictate  a  polite  refu- 
sal.    I  was  still  too  weak  to  write.     My  motive  was  simply 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  331 

and  solely  that  I  wished  to  devote  my  life  to  knowledge. 
But  Bille,  who  knew  what  power  in  a  little  country  hke  Den- 
mark his  offer  would  have  placed  in  my  hands,  hardly  under- 
stood it  in  this  way,  and  was  exceedingly  annoyed  at  my  re- 
fusal. It  gave  the  first  impulse  to  his  altered  feeling 
toward  me.  I  have  sometimes  wondered  since  whether  my 
fate  in  Denmark  might  not  have  been  different  had  I  ac- 
cepted the  charge.  It  is  true  that  the  divergence  between 
what  the  paper  and  I,  in  the  course  of  the  great  year  1871, 
came  to  represent,  would  soon  have  brought  about  a  split. 
The  Commune  m  Pans  caused  a  complete  volte  face  of  the 
hberal  bourgeoisie  in  Denmark,  as  elsewhere. 

XLVI. 

While  I  was  still  too  weak  to  write,  I  received  a  letter 
from  Henrik  Ibsen  (dated  December  20,  1870),  which  im- 
pressed me  greatly.  Henrik  Ibsen  and  I  had  been  on 
friendly  terms  with  one  another  since  April,  1866,  but  it  was 
only  about  this  time  that  our  intimacy  began  to  emit  sparks, 
an  intimacy  which  was  destined  to  have  a  very  widening  in- 
fluence upon  me,  and  which  is  perhaps  not  without  traces  on 
the  stages  of  his  poetical  progress. 

Ibsen  thought  I  had  already  recovered,  and  wrote  to 
me  as  to  a  convalescent.  He  complained  bitterly  ot  the  con- 
quest of  Rome  by  the  Italians :  Rome  was  now  taken  from 
"  us  men  "  and  given  over  to  the  ''  politicians  ";  it  had  been 
a  spot  sacred  to  peace,  and  was  so  no  longer. — This  asser- 
tion was  at  variance  with  my  religion.  It  seemed  to  me 
unpermissible  to  desire,  for  aesthetic  reasons,  to  see  the  res- 
toration of  an  ecclesiastical  regime,  with  its  remorseless  sys- 
tem of  oppression.  Human  happiness  and  intellectual  prog- 
ress were  worth  more  than  the  retention  of  the  idylls  of 
naivete.  1  replied  to  him  by  declaring  my  faith  in  freedom 
and  soon  he  outdid  me  in  this,  as  in  other  domains. 

But  there  was  one  other  part  of  the  letter  that  went  to 
my  heart  and  rejoiced  me.  It  was  where  Ibsen  wrote  that 
what  was  wanted  was  a  revolt  in  the  human  mmd,  and  in  that 
I  ought  to  be  one  of  the  leaders.     These  words,  which  were 


332  REMINISCENCES 

in  exact  agreement  with  my  own  secret  hope,  fired  my  Imag- 
ination, ill  though  I  was.  It  seemed  to  me  that  after  having 
felt  myself  isolated  so  long,  I  had  at  last  met  with  the  mind 
that  understood  me  and  felt  as  I  did,  a  real  fellow-fighter. 
As  soon  as  I  was  once  more  fit  to  use  my  pen,  I  wrote  a  flam- 
ing reply  in  verse  (headed.  The  Hospital  in  Rome,  the  night 
of  January  9,  1871).  In  it  I  described  how  solitary  I  had 
been,  in  my  intellectual  fight  and  endeavour,  and  expressed 
my  contentment  at  having  found  a  brother  in  him. 

XLVII. 

Among  the  Danes,  and  there  were  not  many  of  them, 
who  frequently  came  to  see  me  at  the  hospital,  I  must  men- 
tion the  kind  and  tactful  musician  Niels  Ravnkilde,  whom  I 
had  known  when  I  was  a  child.  He  had  been  living  in 
Rome  now  for  some  twenty  years.  He  was  gentle  and 
quiet,  good-looking,  short  of  stature,  modest  and  unpre- 
tending, too  weak  of  character  not  to  be  friends  with 
everyone,  but  equipped  with  a  natural  dignity.  When  a 
young  music  master  in  Copenhagen,  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  a  young,  wealthy  girl,  whose  affections  he  succeeded  in 
winning  in  return,  but  he  was  turned  out  of  the  house  by  her 
harsh,  purse-proud  father,  and  in  desperation  had  left  Den- 
mark to  settle  down  in  Rome.  As  his  lady-love  married 
soon  after  and  became  a  contented  wife  and  mother,  he  re- 
mained where  he  was.  He  succeeded  in  making  his 
way. 

He  gradually  became  a  favourite  teacher  of  music 
among  the  ladies  of  the  Roman  aristocracy,  who  sometimes 
invited  him  to  their  country-houses  in  the  Summer.  He  was 
on  a  good  footing  with  the  native  maestros  most  in  request. 
who  quickly  understood  that  the  modest  Dane  was  no  danger- 
ous rival.  Graceful  as  Ravnkilde  was  in  his  person,  so  he  was 
in  his  art;  there  was  nothing  grand  about  him.  But  he  was 
clever,  and  had  a  natural,  unaffected  wit.  His  difficult  posi- 
tion as  a  master  had  taught  him  prudence  and  reserve.  He 
was  obligingness  personified  to  travelling  Scandinavians,  and 
was  proud  of  having,  as  he  thought,  made  the  acquaintance 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  y\BROAD  ^^j 

in  Rome  of  the  flower  of  the  good  society  of  the  Northern 
countries.  Even  long  after  he  had  come  to  the  front,  he 
continued  to  live  in  the  fourth  storey  apartment  of  the  Via 
Ripctta,  where  he  had  taken  up  his  abode  on  his  arrival  in 
Rome,  waited  upon  by  the  same  simple  couple.  His  circum- 
stances could  not  improve,  if  only  for  the  reason  that  he 
sent  what  he  had  to  spare  to  relatives  of  his  in  Copenhagen, 
who  had  a  son  who  was  turning  out  badly,  and  lived  by  wast- 
ing poor  Ravnkilde's  savings.  After  having  been  the  provi- 
dence of  all  Danish  travellers  to  Rome  for  thirty  years,  cer- 
tain individuals  who  had  influence  with  the  government  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  a  distinction  for  him.  The  government 
then  gave  him,  not  even  the  poor  little  decoration  that  he 
ought  to  have  had  twenty  years  before,  but — brilliant  idea ! 
— awarded  him  the  title  of  Professor,  which  in  Italian,  of 
course,  he  had  always  been,  and  which  was  a  much  more  in- 
significant title  than  Maestro,  by  which  he  was  regularly 
called. 

Ravnkilde  wrote  my  letters  at  the  hospital  for  me,  and 
the  day  I  came  out  we  drove  away  together  to  the  French 
restaurant  to  celebrate  the  occasion  by  a  dinner. 

I  went  from  there  up  to  Monte  Pinclo  in  a  glorious 
sunshine,  rejoiced  to  see  the  trees  again,  and  the  people  in 
their  Sunday  finery,  and  the  lovely  women's  faces,  as  well 
as  at  being  able  to  talk  to  people  once  more.  It  was  all  like 
new  life  in  a  new  world.  I  met  a  good  many  Scandinavians, 
who  congratulated  me,  and  a  young  savant,  Giuseppe  Saredo, 
who,  as  professor  of  law,  had  been  removed  from  Siena  to 
Rome,  and  with  whom,  at  the  house  of  daH'Ongaro  at  Flor- 
ence, I  had  had  some  delightful  talks.  We  decided  that  we 
would  keep  in  touch  with  one  another, 

XLVIII. 

It  was  only  this  one  day,  however,  that  happiness  and 
the  sun  shone  upon  me.  On  the  morrow  pains  in  my  right 
leg,  in  which  there  was  a  vein  swollen,  made  me  feel  very 
unwell.  So  ignorant  was  the  doctor  that  he  declared  this 
to  be  of  no  importance,  and  gave  me  a  little  ointment  with 


334  REMINISCENCES 

which  to  rub  my  leg.  But  I  grew  worse  from  day  to  day, 
and  after  a  very  short  time  my  leg  was  like  a  lump  of  lead. 
I  was  stretched  once  more  for  some  months  on  a  sick-bed, 
and  this  weakened  me  the  more  since  very  heroic  measures 
were  used  in  the  treatment  of  the  complaint,  a  violent  attack 
of  phlebitis.  The  leg  was  rubbed  every  day  from  the  sole 
of  the  foot  to  the  hip  with  mercury  ointment,  which  could 
not  be  without  its  effect  on  my  general  health. 

Still,  I  kept  up  my  spirits  finely.  Among  the  Scandi- 
navians who  showed  me  kindness  at  this  time  I  gratefully 
remember  the  Danish  painters  Rosenstand  and  Mackeprang, 
who  visited  me  regularly  and  patiently,  and  my  friend  Wal- 
ter Runeberg,  the  Finnish  sculptor,  whose  cheerfulness  did 
me  good. 

Other  Scandinavians  with  whom  I  was  less  well  ac- 
quainted came  to  see  me  now  and  again,  but  they  had  one 
very  annoying  habit.  It  was  customary  at  that  time  for  all 
letters  to  be  addressed,  for  greater  security,  to  the  Danish 
consulate,  which  served  the  purpose  of  a  general  Scandina- 
vian consulate.  Anyone  who  thought  of  coming  to  see  me 
would  fetch  what  letters  had  arrived  for  me  that  day  and  put 
them  in  his  pocket  to  bring  me.  The  letters  I  ought  to  have 
had  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  generally  received  at 
seven  in  the  evening.  But  these  gentlemen  often  forgot  to 
pay  their  visit  at  all,  or  did  not  get  time,  and  then  it  would 
happen  that  after  having  gone  about  with  the  letters  in  their 
pockets  for  a  few  days,  they  took  them  back  to  the  consulate, 
whence  they  were  sent  to  me,  once,  three  days  late.  As  my 
whole  life  on  my  sick-bed  was  one  constant,  painful  long- 
ing for  letters  from  home,  the  more  so  as  my  mother, 
all  the  time  I  was  in  bed,  was  lying  dangerously  ill,  I 
felt  vexed  at  the  thoughtless  behaviour  of  my  com- 
patriots. 

However,  I  had  not  travelled  so  far  to  meet  Northmen, 
and  I  learnt  far  more  from  the  one  Italian  who  sat  by 
my  bedside  day  after  day,  Giuseppe  Saredo.  It  was  amus- 
ing to  note  the  difference  between  his  ways  and  the  North- 
men's. He  did  not  come  in;  he  exploded.  At  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  he  would  rush  in  without  knocking  at  the 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  335 

door,  shouting  at  one  and  the  same  time  Italian  to  the  people 
of  the  house,  and  French  to  me.  He  talked  at  a  furious 
rate,  and  so  loudly  that  people  who  did  not  know  might  have 
fancied  we  were  quarrelling,  and  he  changed  his  seat  once  a 
minute,  jumped  up  from  the  easy  chair  and  seated  himself 
half  in  the  window,  began  a  sentence  there  and  finished  It 
sitting  on  my  bed.  And  every  second  or  third  day  he  either 
himself  brought  books  to  entertain  me  or  sent  large  parcels 
by  a  messenger. 

He  had  risen  to  be  professor  at  the  University  ot  the 
the  capital,  without  ever  having  been  either  student  or  grad- 
uate. His  family  were  too  poor  for  him  to  study.  For 
many  years,  when  a  lad,  he  had  never  eaten  dinner.  His 
occupation,  when  at  last  he  began  to  get  on,  was  that  of 
proof-reader  In  a  printing  establishment,  but  he  tried  to  add 
to  his  income  by  writing  melodramas  for  the  boulevard  the- 
atres in  Turin. 

He  thought  he  had  written  over  fifty.  He  told  me: 
"  The  manager  generally  came  to  me  on  a  Sunday,  when 
we  were  at  liberty,  and  said:  '  We  must  have  a  new  play 
for  next  Sunday.'  On  Monday  the  first  act  was  finished,  on 
Tuesday  the  second,  etc. ;  and  every  act  was  delivered  as  it 
was  written,  and  the  parts  allotted.  Sometimes  the  last 
act  was  only  finished  on  Saturday  morning,  which,  however, 
would  not  prevent  the  piece  being  played  on  Sunday  even- 
ing." In  a  number  of  the  Revue  des  deux  Mondes  for  1857 
we  found  Saredo  mentioned  among  the  melodramatlsts  of 
Italy.  This  must  have  been  ferreted  out  privately,  since  he 
always  wrote  these  melodramas  anonymously,  he  having  de- 
termined, with  naiVe  conceit,  "  not  to  stain  his  future  repu- 
tation." When  he  was  twenty-one,  he  tried  to  raise  him- 
self from  this  rank  to  that  of  a  journalist,  and  succeeded; 
he  sent  all  sorts  of  articles  to  three  newspapers.  From  his 
twenty-first  to  his  twenty-fourth  year  he  wrote  for  the  daily 
papers,  and  wrote  gay  accounts  of  the  volatile  lives  of 
young  Italian  journalists  with  the  ladles  of  the  theatres. 
Then  he  fell  in  love  with  the  lady  who  later  became  his 
wife  (known  as  a  novelist  under  the  pseudonym  of  Ludo- 
vlco  de  Rosa),  and  from  that  time  forth  never  looked  at  an- 


336  REMINISCENCES 

other  woman.     All  his  life  he  cherished  a  great  admiration 
for  his  wife  and  gratitude  towards  her. 

When  he  had  commenced  his  legal  work,  he  strained 
every  nerve  to  the  utmost,  and  obtained  his  professorships 
in  the  various  towns  through  competition,  without  having 
followed  the  usual  University  path.  "  I  have  always  had 
the  most  unshaken  faith  in  my  star,"  he  said  one  day, 
"even  when,  from  hunger  or  despair,  thoughts  of  suicide 
occurred  to  me.  When  I  broke  my  black  bread,  I  said  to 
myself:    'The  day  will  come  when  I  shall  eat  white.'  " 

Like  all  Italians  at  that  time,  Saredo  detested  and  de- 
spised modern  France.  As  far  as  reconquered  Rome  was 
concerned,  he  regarded  her  with  sorrowful  eyes.  "  There 
are  only  nobility,  ecclesiastics,  and  workmen  here,"  he  said; 
"  no  middle  classes,  no  industry  and  no  trade.  Absurd  tariff 
laws  have  up  till  now  shut  off  the  Papal  States  from  the  sur- 
rounding world.  And  what  a  government!  A  doctor,  who 
after  his  second  visit  did  not  make  his  patient  confess  to  a 
priest,  lost  his  official  post,  if  he  happened  to  hold  one,  and 
was  in  any  case  sent  to  prison  for  five  months.  A  doctor 
who  did  not  go  to  Mass  a  certain  number  of  times  during 
the  week  was  prohibited  practising.  The  huge  number  of 
tied-up  estates  made  buying  and  selling  very  difficult.  The 
new  government  has  struck  the  nobility  a  fatal  blow  by  abol- 
ishing entailed  property  and  lands.  The  calling  in  of  the 
ecclesiastical  property  by  the  State  Is  giving  the  towns  a 
chance  to  breathe." 

Whenever  I  revisited  Italy,  I  saw  Saredo.  His  hero- 
ism during  the  inquiries  Into  the  Irregularities  in  Naples  In 
1900-1901  made  his  name  beloved  and  himself  admired  In 
his  native  country.  He  died  in  1902,  the  highest  life  offi- 
cial in  Italy;  since  1897  he  had  been  President  of  the  Council. 

XLIX. 

I  came  under  an  even  greater  debt  of  gratitude  than 
to  Saredo,  to  the  good-natured  people  in  whose  house  I  lay 
ill.  I  was  as  splendidly  looked  after  as  if  I  had  made  It  a 
specified  condition  that  I  should  be  nursed  In  case  of  illness. 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  337 

My  landlady,  Maria,  especially,  was  the  most  careful  nurse, 
and  the  best  creature  in  the  world,  although  she  had  the 
physiognomy  of  a  regular  Italian  criminal,  when  her  face 
was  in  repose.  1  he  moment  she  spoke,  however,  her  fea- 
tures beamed  with  maternal  benevolence.  After  the  hos- 
pital, it  was  a  decided  change  for  the  better.  I  was  under 
no  one's  tyranny  and  did  not  feel  as  though  I  were  in  prison; 
I  could  complain  if  my  food  was  bad,  and  change  trattoria, 
when  1  myself  chose.     Everything  was  good. 

As  long  as  I  was  well,  I  had  taken  hardly  any  notice  of 
the  people  in  the  house,  hardly  exchanged  a  word  with  them; 
I  w\as  out  all  day,  and  either  hastily  asked  them  to  do  my 
room,  or  to  put  a  little  on  the  fire.  It  was  only  when  I 
fell  ill  that  I  made  their  acquaintance. 

Let  me  quote  from  my  notes  at  the  time : 

Maria  is  forty,  but  looks  nearly  sixty.  Her  husband 
is  a  joiner,  a  stout,  good-looking  man,  who  works  all  day 
for  his  living,  and  has  a  shop.  Then  there  is  Maria's  niece, 
the  nineteen-year-old  Filomena,  a  tall,  handsome  girl. 
Every  evening  they  have  fine  times,  laugh,  sing,  and  play 
cards.  On  Sunday  evening  they  go  out  to  the  fair  {alia 
ficra)  and  look  at  the  things  without  buying.  Others  have  to 
pay  a  lire  to  go  in,  but  they  go  in  free,  as  they  know  some  of 
the  people.     On  festival  occasions  Maria  wears  a  silk  dress. 

There  is  a  crucifix  over  my  bed,  an  oleograph  of  the 
Madonna  and  child  and  a  heart,  embroidered  with  gold  on 
white,  horribly  pierced  by  the  seven  swords  of  pain,  which 
were  supposed  to  be  nails;  on  the  centre  of  the  heart,  you 
read,  partly  in  Latin,  partly  in  Greek  letters: 

JESU  XPI  PASSIO. 

All  the  same,  Maria  is  very  sceptical.  Yesterday,  on 
the  evening  of  my  birthday,  we  had  the  following  conversa- 
tion : 

Myself:  "  Here  you  celebrate  your  saints'  day,  not  your 
birthday;  but,  you  know,  up  in  the  North  we  have  not  any 
saints  " — and,  thinking  it  necessary  to  add  a  deep-drawn 
religious  sigh,  I  continued:     "We  think  it  enough  to  be- 


338  REMINISCENCES 

lleve  In  God."  "Oh!  yes,"  she  said  slowly,  and  then,  a 
little  while  after:  "That,  too,  is  His  own  business." 
"How?"  "Well,"  she  said,  "You  know  that  I  am 
dreadfully  ignorant;  I  know  nothing  at  all,  but  I  think  a 
great  deal.  There  are  these  people  now  who  are  always 
talking  about  the  Lord.  I  think  it  is  all  stuff.  When  I 
married,  they  said  to  me:  'May  it  please  the  Lord  that 
your  husband  be  good  to  you.'  I  thought:  If  I  had  not 
been  sensible  enough  to  choose  a  good  husband,  it  would  not 
help  me  much  what  should  please  the  Lord.  Later  on  they 
said:  '  May  it  please  the  Lord  to  giv^e  you  sons.'  I  had 
some,  but  they  died  when  they  were  little  ones.  Then  I 
thought  to  myself:  '  If  my  husband  and  I  do  not  do  some- 
thing in  the  matter,  It  won't  be  much  use  for  the  Lord  to  be 
pleased  to  give  them  to  us.  Nature,  too,  has  something  to 
(say  to  it.  {Anche  la  tiatura  e  una  piccola  cosa.)  You  have 
no  idea,  sir,  how  we  have  suffered  from  priests  here  in  the 
Papal  State.  Everyone  had  to  go  to  Confession,  and  as 
of  course  they  did  not  wish  to  confess  their  own  sins,  they 
confessed  other  people's, — and  told  lies,  too, — and  in  that 
way  the  priests  knew  everything.  If  the  priest  had  heard 
anything  about  a  person,  he  or  she  would  get  a  little  ticket 
from  him :  '  Come  to  me  at  such  and  such  a  time !  '  Then, 
when  the  person  went,  he  would  say:  'Are  you  mad  to 
live  with  such  and  such  a  person  without  being  married!  ' — 
and  all  the  while  he  himself  had  a  woman  and  a  nest  full 
of  children.  Then  he  would  say:  '  I  won't  have  you  in  my 
parish,'  and  he  would  publish  the  poor  thing's  secret  to  the 
whole  world.  Or,  if  he  were  more  exasperated,  he  would  say : 
'  Out  of  the  Pope's  country!  '  and  send  for  a  few  carabineers; 
they  would  take  one  to  a  cart  and  drive  one  to  the  frontier; 
there,  there  were  fresh  carabineers,  who  took  one  farther — 
and  all  without  trial,  or  any  enquiry.  Often  the  accusation 
was  false.  But  we  were  ruled  by  spies,  and  all  their  power 
was  based  on  the  confessional,  which  is  nothing  but  spying. 
Shortly  before  Easter,  a  priest  came  and  counted  how  many 
there  were  In  the  house.  If  afterwards  there  were  one  who 
did  not  go  to  mass,  then  his  name  was  stuck  up  on  the  church 
door   as    an    infidel,    in    disgrace.      It   Is   many  years   now 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  339 

since  I  have  been  to  any  confessor.  When  I  die,  I  shall 
say:  '  God,  forgive  me  my  sins  and  my  mistal<.es,'  and  shall 
die  in  peace  without  any  priest." 

Whatever  we  talk  about,  Maria  always  comes  back 
to  her  hatred  of  the  priests.  The  other  day,  we  were  speak- 
ing of  the  annoyance  I  had  been  subjected  to  by  a  compa- 
triot of  mine,  K.  B.,  who  came  to  see  me,  but  looked  more 
particularly  at  a  large  fiasco  I  had  standing  there,  containing 
four  bottles  of  Chianti.  He  tasted  the  wine,  which  was 
very  inferior,  declared  it  '  nice,'  and  began  to  drink,  ten 
glasses  straight  off.  At  first  he  was  very  polite  to  me,  and 
explained  that  it  was  impossible  to  spend  a  morning  in  a 
more  delightful  manner  than  by  visiting  the  SIstine  Chapel 
first,  and  me  in  my  sick-room  afterwards,  but  by  degrees  he 
became  ruder  and  ruder,  and  as  his  drunkenness  increased 
I  sank  in  his  estimation.  At  last  he  told  me  that  I  was  in- 
tolerably conceited,  and  started  abusing  me  thoroughly.  Ly- 
ing defenceless  in  bed,  and  unable  to  move,  I  was  obliged 
to  ring  for  Maria,  and  whisper  to  her  to  fetch  a  few  gentle- 
men from  the  Scandinavian  Club,  who  could  take  the 
drunken  man  home,  after  he  had  wasted  fully  six  hours  of 
my  day.  I  managed  in  this  way  to  get  him  out  of  the  door. 
He  was  hardly  gone  than  Maria  burst  out:  "  Che  porche- 
riaf  "  and  then  added,  laughing,  to  show  me  her  knowledge 
of  languages:  "  Cochonnerie,  Schivcincrei!  "  She  has  a  re- 
markable memory  for  the  words  she  has  heard  foreigners  use. 
She  knows  a  number  of  French  words,  which  she  pronounces 
half  like  Italian,  and  she  also  knows  a  little  Russian  and  a 
little  German,  having,  when  a  young  girl,  kept  house  for  a 
Russian  prince  and  his  family. 

"  I  feel,"  she  said  to  me,  "  that  I  could  have  learnt  both 
French  and  German  easily,  if  I  could  have  compared  them 
in  a  book.  But  I  can  neither  read  nor  write.  These  wretched 
priests  have  kept  us  in  ignorance.  And  now  I  am  old  and 
good  for  nothing.  I  was  forty  a  little  while  ago,  and  that 
is  too  old  to  learn  the  alphabet.  Do  you  know,  signore,  how 
it  originally  came  about  that  T  did  not  believe,  and  despised 
the  priests?  I  was  twelve  years  old,  and  a  tall  girl,  and  a 
very  good-looking  girl,  too,  though  you  cannot  see  that,  now 


340  REMINISCENCES 

that  I  am  old  and  ugly.  (You  can  see  it  very  plainly,  for 
her  features  are  haughty  and  perfectly  pure  of  line;  it  is  only 
that  her  expression,  when  she  sits  alone,  is  sinister.)  "  I 
lost  my  father  when  I  was  five  years  old.  About  that  time 
my  mother  married  again,  and  did  not  trouble  herself  any 
more  about  me,  as  she  had  children  with  her  new  husband. 
So  I  was  left  to  myself,  and  ran  about  the  streets,  and  be- 
came absolutely  ungovernable,  from  vivacity,  life,  and  mis- 
chief, for  I  was  naturally  a  very  lively  child.  Then  one  day 
I  met  a  mule,  alone;  the  man  had  left  it;  I  climbed  up,  and 
seated  myself  upon  it,  and  rode  about,  up  and  down  the 
street,  until  a  dog  came  that  frightened  the  mule  and  It 
kicked  and  threw  me  over  its  head.  There  I  lay,  with  a 
broken  collar-bone,  and  some  of  the  bone  stuck  out  through 
the  skin.  Then  a  doctor  came  and  wanted  to  bind  it  up  for 
me,  but  I  was  ashamed  for  him  to  see  my  breast,  and  would 
not  let  him.  He  said:  '  Rubbish!  I  have  seen  plenty  of 
girls.'  So  I  was  bound  up  and  for  six  weeks  had  to  lie  quite 
still.  In  the  meantime  a  priest,  whom  they  all  called 
Don  Carlo — I  do  not  know  why  they  said  Don — came  to 
see  me,  and  when  I  was  a  little  better  and  only  could  not 
move  my  left  arm,  he  said  to  me  one  day,  would  I  go  and 
weed  in  his  garden,  and  he  would  give  me  money  for  it.  So 
I  went  every  day  into  the  garden,  where  I  could  very  well 
do  the  work  with  one  arm.  He  came  down  to  me,  brought 
me  sweets  and  other  things,  and  asked  me  to  be  his  friend. 
I  pretended  not  to  understand.  He  said,  too,  how  pretty  I 
was,  and  such  things.  Then  at  last  one  day,  he  called  me 
into  his  bedroom,  and  first  gave  me  sweets,  and  then  set  me 
on  his  knee.  I  did  not  know  how  to  get  away.  Then  I  said 
to  him :  '  It  is  wrong,  the  Madonna  would  not  like  it.'  Do 
you  know,  sir,  what  he  replied?  He  said:  *  Child!  there 
is  no  Madonna  {non  c'e  Madonna)  she  is  only  a  bridle  for 
the  common  people  '  {e  tin  freno  per  il  populo  basso) .  Then 
I  was  anxious  to  run  away,  and  just  then  my  mother  passed 
by  the  garden,  and  as  she  did  not  see  me  there,  called,  '  Anna 
Maria!  Anna  Maria!'  I  said:  *  Mother  is  calling  me,' 
and  ran  out  of  the  room.  Then  mother  said  to  me:  '  What 
did  the  priest  say  to  you,  and  what  did  he  do  to  you  ?     You 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD  341 

were  In  his  bedroom.'  I  said:  'Nothing';  but  when  my 
mother  went  to  confession,  instead  of  confessing  her  sins,  she 
said  over  and  over  again  to  him:  '  What  have  you  done  to 
my  daughter?  I  will  have  my  daughter  examined,  to  see 
what  sort  of  a  man  you  are.'  He  declared:  '  I  will  have 
you  shot  if  you  do  '  {una  biiona  schioppettata) .  So  mother 
did  not  dare  to  go  farther  in  the  matter.  But  she  would  not 
believe  me." 

Here  we  were  interrupted  by  the  Russian  woman  from 
next  door  coming  in;  she  is  married,  more  or  less,  to  a  waiter, 
and  she  complained  of  his  volatility,  and  cried  with  jealousy. 
"  Once  I  was  just  as  weak,"  said  Maria.  "  When  I  was 
newly  married  I  was  so  jealous  of  my  husband,  that  I  could 
neither  eat  nor  drink  if  any  one  came  to  me  and  said:  '  This 
evening  he  Is  with  such  and  such  a  one.'  If  I  tried  to  eat, 
I  was  sick  at  once.  I  am  just  as  fond  of  him  as  I  was 
then,  but  T  am  cured  now.  If  I  saw  his  Infidelity  with  my 
own  eyes,  I  should  not  feel  the  least  bit  hurt  about  It.  Then, 
I  could  have  strangled  him." 


FILOMENA 

Italian    Landladies — The    Carnival — The    Moccoll    Feast — Filomena's    Views 

FILOMENA  sings  lustily  from  early  morning  till  late 
at  night,  and  her  name  suits  her.    The  Greek  Philo- 
mela has  acquired  this  popular  form,  and  in  use  is 
often  shortened  to  Filome. 

The  other  day  I  made  her  a  present  of  a  bag  of  English 
biscuits.  Her  face  beamed  as  I  have  never  besides  seen  any- 
thing beam  but  the  face  of  my  cafetiere — he  is  a  boy  of  twelve 
— when  now  and  again  he  gets  a  few  soldi  for  bringing  mie  my 
coffee  or  tea.  Anyone  who  has  only  seen  the  lighting  up 
of  Northern  faces  has  no  conception, — as  even  painters  ad- 
mit,— of  such  transfiguration.  Yes,  indeed!  Filomena's 
tall  figure  and  fresh  mountain  blood  would  freshen  up  the 
Goldschmidtian  human  race  to  such  an  extent  that  they 
would  become  better  men  anci  women  in  his  next  books. 

I  have  seen  a  little  of  the  Carnival.  This  morning 
Filomena  came  to  my  room,  to  fetch  a  large  Italian  flag 
which  belongs  there.  "  I  am  going  to  wave  it  on  Thurs- 
day," she  said,  and  added,  with  blushing  cheeks,  "  then  I 
shall  have  a  mask  on."  But  this  evening  she  could  not  re- 
strain herself.  For  the  first  time  during  the  five  months  I 
have  lived  here,  and  for  the  first  time  ciuring  the  month  I 
have  been  ill,  she  came  in  without  my  having  called  or  rung 
for  her.  She  had  a  red  silk  cap  on,  with  a  gold  border. 
*' What  do  you  say  to  that,  sir!  "  she  said,  and  her  clear 
laughter  rang  through  the  room.  It  revived  my  sick  self 
to  gaze  at  ease  at  so  much  youth,  strength  and  happiness; 
then  I  said  a  few  kind  words  to  her,  and  encouraged  by  them 
she  burst  into  a  stream  of  eloquence  about  all  the  enjoyment 
she  was  promising  herself.  This  would  be  the  first  carnival 
she  had  seen;  she  came  from  the  mountains  and  was  going 

i42 


FILOMENA  343 

back  there  this  Spring.  She  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  over 
her  cap.  She  always  reminds  me,  with  her  powerful  frame, 
of  the  young  giantess  in  the  fairy  tale  who  takes  up  a  peas- 
ant and  his  plough  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

Filomena  is  as  tall  as  a  moderately  tall  man,  slenderly 
built,  but  with  broad  shoulders.  She  impresses  one  as  en- 
joying life  thoroughly.  She  has  herself  made  all  she 
wears — a  poor  little  grey  woollen  skirt  with  an  edging 
of  the  Italian  colours,  which  has  been  lengthened  some  nine 
inches  at  the  top  by  letting  in  a  piece  of  shirting.  A 
thin  red-and-black-striped  jacket  that  she  wears,  a  kind  of 
loose  Garibaldi,  is  supposed  to  hide  this  addition,  which 
It  only  very  imperfectly  does.  Her  head  is  small  and 
piquant;  her  hair  heavy,  blue-black;  her  eyes  light  brown,  of 
exquisite  shape,  smiling  and  kind.  She  has  small,  red  lips, 
and  the  most  beautiful  teeth  that  I  remember  seeing.  Her 
complexion  is  brown,  unless  she  blushes;  then  It  grows 
darker  brown.  Her  figure  Is  unusually  beautiful,  but  her 
movements  are  heavy,  so  that  one  sees  at  once  she  is 
quite  uneducated.  Still,  she  has  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
ways  of  turning  and  twisting  her  pretty  head  about,  that  are 
absolutely  charming. 

I  have  sent  Filomena  into  the  town  to  buy  a  pound 
of  figs  for  me  and  one  for  herself.  While  she  is  away,  I  re- 
flect that  I  cannot  sufficiently  congratulate  myself  on  my  ex- 
cellent landlady,  and  the  others.  As  a  rule,  these  Roman 
lodging-house  keepers  are,  judging  by  what  one  hears,  per- 
fect bandits.  When  F.,  the  Norwegian  sculptor,  lay  dan- 
gerously ill,  the  woman  In  whose  house  he  was  did  not  even 
speak  to  him ;  she  went  out  and  left  him  alone  in  the  house. 
When  the  Danish  dilettante  S.  w^as  at  death's  door,  his  land- 
lady did  not  enter  his  room  once  a  day,  or  give  him  a  drink 
of  water,  and  he  w^as  obliged  to  keep  a  servant.  V.'s 
landlady  stole  an  opera-glass,  a  frock-coat,  and  a  great  deal 
of  money  from  him.  Most  foreigners  are  swindled  in  a 
hundred  different  ways;  If  they  make  a  stain  on  the  carpet, 
they  must  pay  for  a  new  one.  Maria  looks  after  me  like  a 
mother.  Every  morning  she  rubs  me  with  the  ointment  the 
doctor  has  prescribed.     When  I  have  to  have  a  bath,  she 


344  REMINISCENCES 

takes  me  In  her  arms,  without  any  false  shame,  and  puts  me 
in  the  water;  then  takes  me  up  and  puts  me  to  bed  again; 
after  my  sojourn  in  the  hospital,  I  am  not  very  heavy.  What 
I  am  most  astonished  at  is  the  indulgent  delicacy  of  these 
peopfe.  For  instance,  Maria  has  forbidden  her  good-natured 
husband,  whom,  like  Filomena,  I  like  to  call  Z'lo  (uncle),  to 
eat  garlic  (the  favourite  food  of  the  Romans)  while 
I  am  ill,  that  I  may  not  be  annoyed  in  my  room  by  the  smell. 
I  have  only  to  say  a  word,  and  she  and  her  niece  run  all  my 
errands  for  me.  Indeed,  the  other  day,  Maria  exclaimed, 
quite  indignantly:  "  Sir,  do  not  say  '  when  you  go  into  the 
town,  will  you  buy  me  this  or  that?  '  Are  we  robbers,  are 
we  scoundrels?  Only  say,  'go,'  and  I  will  go."  I  never 
say  to  her:  "  Will  you  do  me  a  favour?  "  without  her  re- 
plying: "Two,  sir."  Yes,  and  she  heaps  presents  upon 
me;  she  and  Fdomena  bring  me,  now  a  bundle  of  firewood, 
now  a  glass  of  good  wine,  now  macaroni,  etc.  All  the  Danes 
who  come  here  are  astonished,  and  say:  "You  have  got 
deucedly  good  people  to  look  after  you." 

Maria's  greatest  pleasure  is  talking.  She  has  no  time 
for  it  in  the  day.  In  the  evening,  however,  she  tidies  my 
room  slowly,  entertaining  me  all  the  time.  When  she  has 
quite  finished,  at  the  time  of  day  when  others  are  drowsy  or 
go  to  bed,  she  still  likes  to  have  just  a  little  more  conversa- 
tion, and  she  knows  that  when  I  see  she  has  put  the  last  thing 
into  its  place,  her  task  for  the  day  is  ended,  and  I  shall  dis- 
miss her  with  a  gracious  Biiona  sera,  hon  r'rposo!  To  put 
off  this  moment  as  long  as  possible,  she  will  continue  to  hold 
some  object  in  her  hand,  and,  standing  in  the  favourite  posi- 
tion of  the  Romans,  with  her  arms  akimbo,  and  some  toilet 
article  under  her  arm,  will  hold  a  long  discourse.  She  some- 
times looks  so  indescribably  comic  that  I  almost  choke  with 
suppressed  laughter  as  we  talk. 

To-day  is  the  first  day  of  the  Carnival.  So  even  Filo- 
mena has  been  out  this  evening  in  tri-coloured  trousers. 
...  1  am  interrupted  by  the  inmates  of  all  the  floors  re- 
turning from  the  Carnival,  all  talking  at  once,  and  coming 
straight  in  to  me  to  show  me  their  dress.     Amongst  them 


FILOMENA  345 

are  guests  from  the  mountains,  tall,  dark  men,  in  exceedingly 
fantastic  garb.  They  tell  me  how  much  they  have  enjoyed 
themselves.  Filomena  has  naively  made  me  a  present  of  a 
few  burnt  almonds  with  sugar  upon  them,  that  she  has  had 
in  her  trouser  pockets,  and  informs  me  with  impetuous  volu- 
bility how  she  has  talked  to  all  the  people  she  met,  "who 
do  not  know  her  and  whom  she  does  not  know."  She  has 
had  one  of  my  white  shirts  on,  which  she  had  embroidered 
all  over  with  ribbons  till  it  looked  like  a  real  costume. 
She  is  beaming  with  happiness.  The  tambourine  tinkles  all 
the  evening  in  the  street;  they  are  dancing  the  tarantella  to  it 
down  below,  and  it  is  difficult  to  go  to  sleep.  Maria  stays 
behind,  when  the  others  have  gone,  to  finish  her  day's  work. 
It  is  a  sight  for  the  gods  to  see  her  doing  it  with  a  gold  bro- 
cade cap  on  her  head,  and  in  red,  white  and  green  trousers! 

None  of  them  guess  what  a  torment  it  is  to  me  to  lie 
and  hear  about  the  Carnival,  which  is  going  on  a  few 
streets  from  where  I  am  lying,  but  which  I  cannot  see.  When 
shall  I  spend  a  Winter  in  Rome  again?  And  no  other  Car- 
nival will  be  to  compare  with  this  one  after  the  Romans  for 
ten  years  have  held  altogether  aloof  from  it,  and  one  hardly 
even  on  Moccoli  Eve  saw  more  than  two  carriages  full  of 
silly  Americans  pelting  one  another  with  confetti,  while  the 
porters  and  the  French  soldiers  flung  jibes  and  dirt  at  each 
other.  Now  Rome  is  free,  jubilation  breaks  out  at  all  the 
pores  of  the  town,  and  I,  although  I  am  in  Rome,  must  be 
content  to  see  the  reflection  of  the  festival  in  a  few  ingenu- 
ous  faces. 

It  is  morning.  I  have  slept  well  and  am  enjoying  the 
fresh  air  through  the  open  windows.  Heavens !  what  a 
lovely  girl  is  standing  on  the  balcony  nearly  opposite, 
in  a  chemise  and  skirt!  I  have  never  seen  her  there  before. 
Olive  complexion,  blue-black  hair,  the  most  beautiful  crea- 
ture; I  cannot  see  her  features  distinctly.  Now  they  are 
throwing  something  across  to  her  from  the  house  next  door 
to  us,  on  a  piece  of  twine;  I  think  they  are  red  flowers.  They 
almost  touch  her,  and  yet  she  cannot  catch  them,  and  laugh- 
ing stretches  out  both  hands  a  second,  a  third  and  fourth 
time,  equally  unsuccessfully.    Why,  it  is  our  Filomena,  visit- 


346  REMINISCENCES 

ing  the  model  the  other  side  the  street.     She  gives  up  the 
attempt  with  a  little  grimace,  and  goes  in. 

Loud  voices  are  singing  the  Bersagliere  hymn  as  a  duet 
under  my  window.  Verily,  things  are  alive  in  Purificazione 
to-day.  The  contagion  of  example  affects  a  choir  of  little 
boys  who  are  always  lying  outside  the  street  door,  and  they 
begin  to  sing  the  Garibaldi  march  for  all  they  are  worth. 
Our  singers  at  the  theatre  at  home  would  be  glad  of  such 
voices.  The  whole  street  is  ringing  now;  all  are  singmg  one 
of  Verdi's  melodies. 

I  am  sitting  up  In  bed.  At  the  side  of  my  bed,  Filo- 
mena,  with  her  black,  heavy  hair  well  dressed,  and  herself 
in  a  kind  of  transitional  toilette;  her  under-garment  fine,  the 
skirt  that  of  a  festival  gown,  on  account  of  the  preparations 
for  the  Carnival;  her  top  garment  the  usual  red  jacket. 
She  is  standing  with  her  hand  on  her  hip,  but  this  does  not 
make  her  look  martial  or  alarming. 

/ — You  ate  magro  today?     (It  was  a  fast  day.) 

She — Good  gracious!     Magro  every  day  just  now  I 

/ — Do  you  know,  Fllomena,  that  I  eat  grassof 

She — Yes,  and  It  is  your  duty  to  do  so. 

/—Why? 

She — Because  you  are  111,  and  you  must  eat  meat;  the 
Pope  himself  ate  meat  when  he  was  III.  Religion  does  not 
mean  that  we  are  to  Injure  our  health. 

/ — How  do  you  know,  Fllomena,  what  Religion  means? 

She — From  my  Confessor.  I  had  a  little  headache  the 
other  day,  and  he  ordered  me  at  once  to  eat  meat. 

/ — The  worst  of  It  Is  that  I  have  no  Confessor  and  do 
not  go  to  church.     Shall  I  be  damned  for  that? 

She — Oh !  no,  sir,  that  does  not  follow  !  Do  you  think 
I  am  so  stupid  as  not  to  see  that  you  others  are  far  better 
Christians  than  we?  You  are  good;  the  friends  who  come 
to  see  you  are  good.  The  Romans,  on  the  other  hand,  who 
go  to  church  one  day,  kill  people  the  next,  and  steal,  and  will 
not  let  us  poor  girls  go  about  the  streets  in  peace." 

I  am  quite  sorry  that  she  is  to  go  home  at  Easter;  I 
shall  miss  her  face  about  the  house.    But  I  have  missed  more. 


FILOAIENA  347 

Late  evening.  They  have  come  back  from  the  Carni- 
val. Filomena  came  in  and  presented  me  with  an  object  the 
use  of  which  is  an  enigma  to  me.  A  roll  of  silver  paper. 
Now  I  see  what  it  is,  a  Carnival  cap.  My  Danish  friend 
R.  declares  she  has  got  it  into  her  head  that  when  I  am  better 
I  shall  marry  her,  or  rather  that  Maria  has  put  it  into  her 
head.  I  thought  I  would  see  how  matters  stood.  I  began 
talking  to  Maria  about  marriages  with  foreigners.  Maria 
mentioned  how  many  girls  from  Rome  and  Capri  had  mar- 
ried foreigners,  but  added  afterwards,  not  without  signifi- 
cance, addressing  me:  "It  is  not,  as  you  believe,  and  as 
you  said  once  before,  that  a  girl  born  in  a  warm  country 
would  complain  of  being  taken  to  a  cold  one.  If  she  did, 
she  would  be  stupid.  But  a  Roman  girl  will  not  do  for  a 
foreign  gentleman.      The  Roman  girls  learn  too  little." 

Much,  the  lower  classes  certainly  do  not  learn.  Before  I 
came,  Filomena  did  not  know  what  ink  was.  Now  I  have 
discovered  that  she  does  not  know  what  a  watch  is.  She 
reckons  time  by  the  dinner  and  the  Ave  Maria.  Not  long 
ago  her  uncle  spent  a  week  in  trying  to  teach  this  great  child 
to  make  and  read  figures,  but  without  success.  Not  long 
ago  she  had  to  write  to  her  mother  in  the  mountains,  so  went 
to  a  public  waiter,  and  had  it  done  for  her.  She  came  in  to 
me  very  innocently  afterwards  to  know  whether  the  right 
name  and  address  were  upon  it.  I  told  her  that  she  could 
very  well  have  let  me  write  the  letter.  Since  then,  all  the 
people  in  the  house  come  to  me  when  there  is  anything  they 
want  written,  and  ask  me  to  do  it  for  them. 

The  news  of  my  skill  has  spread.  Apropos  of  letters, 
I  have  just  read  the  four  letters  that  I  received  to-day.  Filo- 
mena is  perpetually  complaining  of  my  sweetheart's  uncon- 
trollable passion  as  revealed  in  this  writing  madness.  She 
imagines  that  all  the  letters  I  receive  from  Denmark  are  from 
one  person,  and  that  person,  of  course,  a  woman.  She  her- 
self hardly  receives  one  letter  a  year. 

I  have  (after  careful  consideration)  committed  a  great 
imprudence,  and  escaped  without  hurt.  I  had  mvself  car- 
ried down  the  stairs,  drove  to  the  Corso,  saw  the  Carnival, 


348  REMINISCENCES 

and  am  back  home  again.  I  had  thought  first  of  driving  up 
and  down  the  Corso  in  a  carriage,  but  did  not  care  to  be 
wholly  smothered  with  confetti,  especially  as  I  had  not  the 
strength  to  pelt  back.  Nor  could  I  afford  to  have  the  horses 
and  carriage  decorated.  So  I  had  a  good  seat  in  a  first-floor 
balcony  engaged  for  me,  first  row.  At  3  o'clock  I  got  up, 
dressed,  and  was  carried  down.  I  was  much  struck  by  the 
mild  Summer  air  out  of  doors  (about  the  same  as  our  late 
May),  and  I  enjoyed  meeting  the  masked  people  in  the 
streets  we  passed  through.  The  few  but  rather  steep  stairs 
up  to  the  balcony  were  a  difficulty.  But  at  last  I  was  seated, 
and  in  spite  of  sickness  and  weakness,  enjoyed  the  Carnival 
in  Rome  on  its  most  brilliant  day.  I  was  sitting  nearly  op- 
posite to  the  high  box  of  Princess  Margharita,  from  which 
there  was  not  nearly  so  good  a  view  as  from  my  seat.  This 
was  what  I  saw:  All  the  balconies  bedecked  with  flags;  red, 
white  and  green  predominating.  In  the  long,  straight  street, 
the  crowd  moving  in  a  tight  mass.  In  between  them,  an 
up  and  a  down  stream  of  carriages,  drawn  at  a  walking  pace 
by  two  horses,  and  forced  at  every  moment  to  stop.  The 
streets  re-echoed  with  the  jingle  of  the  horses'  bells,  and  with 
shouts  of  glee  at  a  magnificently  decorated  carriage,  then 
at  some  unusually  beautiful  women,  then  at  a  brisk  con- 
fetti fight  between  two  carriages,  or  a  carriage  and  a  bal- 
cony. And  this  air,  re-echoing  with  the  ring  of  bells,  with 
shouting,  and  with  laughter,  was  no  empty  space.  Anyone 
reaching  the  Corso,  as  I  had  done,  after  the  play  had  only 
been  going  on  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  found  themselves  in 
the  midst  of  a  positive  bombardment  of  tiny  little  aniseed 
balls,  or  of  larger  plaster  balls,  thrown  by  hand,  from 
little  tin  cornets,  or  half-bushel  measures,  and  against  which 
it  is  necessary  to  protect  one's  self  by  a  steel  wire  mask  be- 
fore the  face.  For  whilst  some  gentle  young  ladies  almost 
pour  the  confetti  down  from  their  carriages,  so  that  it  falls 
like  a  soft  shower  of  rain,  many  of  the  Romans  fling  it  with 
such  force  that  without  a  mask  the  eyes  might  suffer  consid- 
erably. The  brim  of  one's  hat,  and  every  fold  in  one's 
clothes,  however,  are  full  of  little  balls.  Most  people  go 
about  with  a  huge,  full  bag  by  their  side,  others  on  the  bal- 


FILOMENA  349 

conies   have   immense  baskets   standing,   which    are   hardly 
empty  before  they  are  re-filled  by  eager  sellers.    All  the  ladies 
standing  in  the  windows,  who  were  disguised  as  Turkish  la- 
dies,  or   workwomen   from   the  port,   had   a   deep   wooden 
trough,    quite    full,    brought    outside    their    windows,    and 
into   this   supply   dipped   continually — in   the   street,   which 
had  been  covered  with  soil  for  the  sake  of  the  horse-racing, 
was  a  crowd  of  people  In  fancy  dress,  many  of  them  having 
great  fun,  and  being  very  amusing.     One  old  woman  In  a 
chemise  was  amongst  the  best.     A  young  fellow,  dressed  en- 
tirely in  scarlet,  more  particularly  amused  himself  by  putting 
the  officers  of  the  National  Guard,  who  were  walking  about 
to  keep  order,  out  of  countenance.     When  they  were  look- 
ing especially  stern,  he  would  go  up  to  them  and  tickle  them 
on  the  cheeks,  and  talk  baby  talk  to  them,  and  they  had  to 
put  the  best  face  they  could  on  It.     The  street  life  and  the 
pedestrians,  however,  did  not  attract  much  attention.    All  the 
interest  was  centred  on  the  carriages,  and  the  games  between 
them  and  the  windows  and  balconies.     The  people  in  car- 
riages were  all  In  fancy  dress.     Amongst  them  one  noticed 
charming  groups  of  Roman  ladles  in  light  cloaks  of  red  silk 
with  a  red  steel  wire  mask  before  their  faces,  through  which 
one  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  their  features;  there  was  a 
swarm  of  delightful  figures,  certainly  half  of  them  In  men's 
clothes,    armed   young   sailors,    for   instance.     Fine,    happy 
faces!     And  the  young  men,  how  handsome!     Not  flashing 
eyes,  as  people  affectedly  say,  but  happy  eyes;  a  good,  healthy 
physique,  an  expression  which  seemed  to  say  that  they  had 
breathed  In  sunshine  and  happiness  and  all  the  beatitude  of 
laziness,  all  the  mild  and  good-humoured  comfort  of  leisure, 
all  their  lives  long.     One  party  had  a  colossal  cart  with  out- 
riders and  postilions,  and  hung  in  the  yards  and  stood  on  the 
thwarts  of  a  large  cutter  poised  upon  It,  In  becoming  naval 
officers'  dress,  flinging  magnificent  bouquets  to  all  the  beau- 
tiful ladies  who  drove  past.     The  bouquets  would  have  cost 
several  lire  each,  and  they  flung  them  by  the  hundred,  so  they 
must  have  been  young  fellows  of  means.     The  throwing  of 
confetti   is  merely  bellicose  and  ordinary.     Infinitely  more 
interesting  is  the  coquettish,  Ingratiating,  genuinely  Italian 


350  REMINISCENCES 

flinging  backwards  and  forwards  of  bouquets.  The  grace 
and  charm  of  the  manner  in  which  they  are  flung  and  caught, 
nothing  can  surpass;  there  may  be  real  passion  in  the  way 
in  which  six  or  seven  bouquets  in  succession  are  flung  at  one 
and  the  same  lady,  who  nev^er  omits  to  repay  in  similar  coin. 
One  carriage  was  especially  beautiful;  it  had  a  huge  square 
erection  upon  it,  entirely  covered  with  artificial  roses  and 
greenery,  which  reached  almost  to  the  second  storey  of  the 
houses,  and  upon  it,  in  two  rows,  facing  both  sides  of  the 
streets,  stood  the  loveliest  Roman  girls  imaginable,  flinging 
bouquets  unceasingly.  Most  of  the  carriages  have  tall 
poles  sticking  up  with  a  crossway  bar  at  the  top,  and  there 
are  bouquets  on  every  bar,  so  there  is  a  constant  supply  to 
draw  from.  Beautiful  Princess  Margharita  was,  of  course, 
the  object  of  much  homage,  although  her  balcony  was  on 
the  second  floor.  One  form  this  took  was  very  graceful. 
A  few  young  gentlemen  in  blue  and  white  drove  slowly  past; 
one  of  them  had  a  large  flat  basket  filled  with  lovely  white 
roses;  he  stuck  a  long  halberd  through  the  handle  and  hoisted 
the  basket  up  to  the  Princess,  being  richly  rewarded  with 
bouquets.  One  wag  hit  upon  an  idea  that  was  a  bril- 
liant success.  At  five  o'clock  he  sent  a  bladder,  in  the 
shape  of  a  huge  turkey,  up  in  the  flickering  sunlight.  It 
was  so  fixed  up  as  to  move  its  head  about,  with  an  expression 
of  exceedingly  ridiculous  sentimentality,  now  to  the  right, 
now  caressingly  to  the  left,  as  it  ascended.  The  whole  Corso 
rang  again  with  laughter  and  clapping.  The  horse-racing 
at  the  end  was  not  of  much  account.  The  horses  start  ex- 
cited by  the  rocket  let  off  at  their  tails,  and  by  all  the  sharp 
pellets  hanging  around  about  them,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
howling  of  the  crowd.  At  six  o'clock  I  was  at  home  and 
in  bed. 

K.  B.  has  been  here  to  see  me;  Filomcna  hates  and  de- 
spises him  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  since  the  day  that 
he  got  drunk  on  my  wine.  When  he  was  gone  she  said: 
"  Briitta  bestia,  I  forgot  to  look  whether  he  was  clean  to- 
day." She  and  Maria  declare  that  he  is  the  only  one  of  all 
my  acquaintances  who  does  not  wear  clean  linen.     This  point 


FILOMENA  351 

of  cleanliness  Is  a  mild  obsession  of  Filomcna's  just  now. 
She  prides  herself  greatly  on  her  cleanliness,  and  asks  me 
every  day  whether  she  is  clean  or  not.      She  is  a  new  convert 
to  cleanliness,  and  renegades  or  newly  initiated  people  are 
in  all  religions  the  most  violent.     When  I  came  to  the  house, 
her  face  was  black  and  she  washed  her  hands  about  once  a 
day.      R.  then  remarked  about  her — which  was  a  slight  ex- 
aggeration— that  if  one  were  to  set  her  up  against  the  wall, 
she  would  stick  fast.     She  noticed  with  unfeigned  astonish- 
ment how  many  times  I  washed  myself,  and  asked  for  fresh 
water,  how  often  I  had  clean  shirts,  etc.     This  made  a  pro- 
found impression  on  her  young  mind,  and  after  I  came  back 
from  the  hospital  she  began  in  earnest  to  rub  her  face  with 
a  sponge  and  to  wash  herself  five  or  six  times  a  day,  like- 
wise to  wash  the  handkerchiefs  she  wears  round  her  neck. 
Maria  looks  on  at  all  this  with  surprise.     She  says,  like  the 
old   woman    in    Tonietta,    by    Henrik    Hertz:      "A    great, 
strong   girl   like    that    does   not   need   to   wash    and   splash 
herself    all    over    like    an    Englishwoman."      The    lectures 
she    has    given    me    every    time    I    have    wanted    to   wash 
myself,    on    the    harm    water   does    an    invalid,    are    many 
and     precious.       Whenever     I     ask     for    water     I     might 
be  wanting  to  commit  suicide;  it  is  only  after  repeated  re- 
quests that  she  brings  it,  and  then  with  a  quiet,  resigned  ex- 
pression, as  if  to  say:     "  I  have  done  my  best  to  prevent 
this  imprudence:   I  wash  my  hands  of  all  responsibility." 
Filomena,  in  her  new  phase  of  development,  is  quite  differ- 
ent.    She  looks  at  my  shirt  with  the  eyes  of  a  connoisseur, 
and   says:      "It   will   do   for  to-morrow;   a    clean   one   the 
day  after  to-morrow!"   or,   "Did  you  see  what  beautiful 
cuffs  the  tall,  dark  man    (M.  the  painter)    had  on  yester- 
day?" or,  "Excuse  my  skirt  being  so  marked  now,  I  am 
going  to  have  a  clean  one  later  in  the  day,"  or,  "  Is  mv  cheek 
dirty?     I   don't  think  so,   for  I  have  washed  myself  twice 
to-day;  you  must  remember  that  I  am  very  dark-complex- 
ioned, almost  like  a  Moor."     Or  else  there  will  be  a  trium- 
phal entry  into  my  room,  with  a  full  water-can  in  her  hand, 
one  of  the  very  large  ones  that  are  used  here.      "  What  is 
that,  Filomena?     What  am  I  to  do  with  that?  "     "  Look, 


352  REMINISCENCES 

sir,  it  Is  full."  "Well,  what  of  that?"  "  It  is  the  waiter's 
water-can;  it  has  been  standing  there  full  for  ten  days 
(scornfully)  :  he  Is  afraid  of  water;  he  only  uses  It  for  his 
coffee."  She  has  forgotten  how  few  months  it  is  since  she 
herself  was  afraid  of  water. 

She  came  in  while  I  was  eating  my  supper,  and  re- 
marked: "You  always  read  at  your  meals;  how  can  you 
eat  and  read  at  the  same  time?  I  do  not  know  what  read- 
ing is  like,  but  I  thought  It  was  more  difficult  than  that.  It 
is  a  great  misfortune  for  me  that  I  can  neither  read  nor  write. 
Supposing  I  were  to  be  ill  like  you,  how  should  I  pass  away 
the  time!  There  was  no  school  at  Camarino,  where  I  was 
born,  and  I  lived  in  the  country  till  I  was  eighteen,  and 
learnt  nothing  at  all.  We  were  nine  brothers  and  sisters; 
there  was  seldom  any  food  in  the  house;  sometimes  we 
worked;  sometimes  we  lay  on  the  ground.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  I  cannot  read,  for  I  am  not  at  all  beautiful;  If  I  could 
only  do  something,  I  should  be  able  to  get  a  husband." 

"Don't  you  know  any  of  the  letters,  Filomena?" 
"  No,  sir."  "  Don't  trouble  about  that.  You  are  happier 
than  I,  who  know  a  great  deal  more  than  you.  You  laugh 
and  sing  all  day  long;  I  neither  laugh  nor  sing."  "Dear 
sir,  you  will  laugh,  and  sing  as  well,  when  you  get  home. 
Then  your  little  girl  {ragazza)  who  Is  so  appassionata  that 
she  writes  four  letters  a  day,  will  make  fete  for  you,  and  I 
think  that  when  you  go  to  the  osteria  with  your  friends  you 
laugh.  It  Is  enough  now  for  you  to  be  patient."  As  she  had 
spoken  about  getting  a  husband,  I  asked:  "  Are  your  sisters 
married?"  "They  are  all  older  than  I,  and  married." 
(Saving  her  pride  in  the  first  part  of  her  reply.)  After  a 
few  minutes'  reflection  she  went  on :  "  I,  for  my  part,  will 
not  have  a  husband  under  thirty;  the  young  ones  all  beat 
their  wives."  Shortly  afterwards,  I  put  an  end  to  the  au- 
dience. We  had  had  a  few  short  discussions,  and  I  had 
been  vanquished,  apparently  by  her  logic,  but  chiefly  by  rea- 
son of  her  better  mastery  of  the  language,  and  because  I  de- 
fended all  sorts  of  things  in  joke.  At  last  I  said:  "  Have 
you  noticed,  Filomena,  that  when  we  argue  it  is  always  you 


FILOMENA  353 

who  silence  me?  So  you  can  see,  in  spite  of  all  my  reading, 
that  you  have  better  brains  than  1."  This  compliment 
pleased  her;  she  blushed  and  smiled,  without  being  able  to 
find  a  reply. 

She  realises  the  Northern  ideal  of  the  young  woman 
not  spoilt  by  novel-reading.  Nor  does  she  lack  intelli- 
gence, although  she  literally  does  not  know  what  North  and 
South  mean;  she  is  modest,  refined  in  her  way,  and  happy 
over  very  little.  For  the  moment  she  is  engaged  in  making 
the  little  dog  bark  like  mad  by  aggravatingly  imitating  the 
mewing  of  a  cat. 

Later.  The  boy  from  the  cafe  brings  me  my  supper. 
What  has  become  of  Filomena?  I  wonder  if  she  Is  out? 
I  cannot  hear  her  having  her  evening  fight  with  the  boy  in 
the  passage.     She  likes  to  hit  him  once  a  day  for  exercise. 

Maria  comes  in.  "Do  you  hear  the  cannon,  sir? 
What  do  you  think  it  is?"  I  reply  calmly:  "  It  is  war; 
the  Zouaves  (papal  troops)  are  coming."  Maria  goes  out 
and  declares  the  reply  of  the  oracle  in  the  next  room.  Some 
cannon  salutes  really  were  being  fired.  Maria  hurries  down 
into  the  street  to  hear  about  it  and  Filomena  comes  in  to  me. 
"  I  am  afraid,"  she  says.  "  Do  you  mean  it?  "  She  was 
laughing  and  trembling  at  the  same  time.  I  saw  that 
the  fear  was  quite  real.  "  Is  It  possible  that  you  can  be 
so  afraid?  There  is  not  really  any  war  or  any  Zouaves, 
It  was  only  a  joke."  That  pacified  her.  "  I  was  afraid.  If 
you  like,"  said  she,  "when  the  Italians  (the  Romans  never 
call  themselves  Italians)  marched  Into  Rome.  One  shell 
came  after  another;  one  burst  on  the  roof  of  the  house  op- 
posite." "Who  are  you  for,  the  Pope  or  Vittorio?" 
"  For  neither.  I  am  a  stupid  girl;  I  am  for  the  one  that 
will  feed  and  clothe  me.  But  I  have  often  laughed  at  the 
Zouaves.  One  of  them  was  standing  here  one  day,  taking 
pinch  after  pinch  of  snuff,  and  he  said  to  me:  'The  Italians 
will  never  enter  Rome.'  I  replied:  'Not  If  they  take  snuff, 
but  they  will  if  they  storm  the  town.'"  "Do  you  think 
that  the  Pope  will  win?"  "No,  I  think  his  cause  Is 
lost.     Perhaps    there    will    even    come    a    time    when    no 


354  REMINISCENCES 

one  goes  to  churches  here."  She:  "  Who  goes  to  church! 
The  girls  to  meet  their  lovers;  the  young  men  to  see  a  pretty 
shop-girl.  We  laugh  at  the  priests."  "Why?"  "Be- 
cause they  are  ridiculous:  if  it  thunders,  they  say  at  once  that 
it  is  a  sign  from  God.  The  sky  happens  to  be  flaming  red, 
like  it  was  last  October.  That  was  because  the  Italians  en- 
tered Rome  in  September.  Everything  is  a  sign  from  God, 
a  sign  of  his  anger,  his  exasperation.  He  is  not  angry,  that 
is  clear  enough.  If  he  had  not  wanted  the  Italians  to  come 
in,  they  would  not  have  come,  but  would  all  have  died  at 
once."  She  said  this  last  with  great  earnestness  and  pathos, 
with  an  upward  movement  of  her  hand,  and  bowed  her  head, 
like  one  who  fears  an  unknown  power.  Maria  returned,  say- 
ing people  thought  the  shots  meant  that  Garibaldi  had  come. 
Said  I :  "  Therp,  he  is  a  brave  man.  Try  to  be  like  him, 
Filomena.  It  is  not  right  for  a  big  strong  girl  to  tremble." 
She:  "  I  am  not  strong,  but  still,  I  am  stronger  than  you, 
who  have  been  weakened  so  much  by  your  illness, — and  yet, 
who  knows,  you  have  been  much  better  the  last  few  days. 
Shall  we  try?  "  I  placed  my  right  hand  in  hers,  first  tested 
her  strength  a  little,  and  then  found  to  my  surprise  that  her 
arm  was  not  much  stronger  than  that  of  an  ordinary  lady; 
then  I  bent  my  fingers  a  little,  and  laid  her  very  neatly  on  the 
floor.  I  was  sitting  in  bed;  she  was  on  her  knees  in  front 
of  the  bed,  but  I  let  her  spring  up.  It  was  a  pretty  sight; 
the  blue-black  hair,  the  laughing  mouth  with  the  fine,  white 
teeth,  the  brown,  smiling  eyes.  As  she  got  up,  she  said : 
"  You  are  well  now;  I  am  not  sorry  to  have  been  conquered." 

Have  taken  my  second  flight.  I  have  been  at  the  Moc- 
coll  fete,  had  myself  carried  and  driven  there  and  back,  like 
last  time.  Saredo  had  taken  a  room  on  the  Corso;  I  saw 
everything  from  there,  and  now  I  have  the  delightful  im- 
pressions of  it  all  left.  What  exuberant  happiness!  What 
jubilation!  What  childlike  gaiety!  It  is  like  going  into  a 
nursery  and  watching  the  children  play,  hearing  them  shout 
and  enjoy  themselves  like  mad,  as  one  can  shout  and  enjoy 
things  one's  self  no  longer. 

I  arrived  late  and  only  saw  the  end  of  the  processions; 


FILOMENA  355 

far  more  carriages,  wilder  shouting,  more  madness, — bac- 
chaiitic,  stormy, — than  last  time.  Ihe  whole  length  of  the 
Corso  was  one  shriek  of  laughter.  And  how  many  lovely 
faces  at  the  windows,  on  the  balconies  and  verandas !  Large 
closed  carriages  with  hidden  music  inside  and  graceful  ladies 
on  the  top.  As  /  preti  (the  Catholic  papers)  had  said  that 
all  who  took  part  in  the  Carnival  were  paid  by  the  govern- 
ment, a  number  of  men  and  women,  in  the  handsomest  car- 
riages— according  to  the  Nuova  Roma  for  to-day,  more  than 
20,000 — had  the  word  pagato  (paid)  fastened  to  their  caps, 
which  evoked  much  amusement.  Then  the  lancers  cleared 
the  street  at  full  galop  for  the  horse  races  (barheri) ,  and  at 
once  an  immense  procession  of  Polichinelli  and  ridiculous 
equestrians  In  Don  Quixote  armour  organised  itself  and  rode 
down  the  Corso  at  a  trot  In  parody.  Then  came  the  mad, 
snorting  horses.  Then  a  few  minutes, — and  night  fell  over 
the  seven  heights  of  Rome,  and  the  Corso  Itself  lay  In  dark- 
ness. Then  the  first  points  of  light  began  to  make  tneir 
appearance.  Here  below,  one  little  shimmer  of  light,  and 
up  there  another,  and  two  there,  and  six  here,  and  ten  down 
there  to  the  left,  and  hundreds  on  the  right,  and  then  thou- 
sands, and  many,  many  thousands.  From  one  end  of  the 
great  long  street  to  the  other,  from  the  first  floor  to  the  roof 
of  every  house  and  every  palace,  there  is  one  steadv  twink- 
ling of  tiny  flames,  of  torches,  of  large  and  small  lights;  the 
effect  is  surprising  and  peculiar.  As  soon  as  the  first  light 
appeared,  young  men  and  girls  ran  and  tried  to  blow  each 
other's  candles  out.  Even  the  children  took  part  In  the 
game;  I  could  see  Into  several  houses,  where  It  was  going 
on  briskly.  Then,  from  every  side-street  decorated  car- 
riages began  to  drive  on  to  the  Corso  again,  but  this  time 
every  person  held  a  candle  in  his  hand.  Yes,  and  that 
was  not  all !  at  least  every  other  of  the  large  waggons — they 
were  like  Immense  boxes  of  flowers — had,  on  poles,  or  made 
fast,  Bengal  fire  of  various  colours,  which  lighted  up  every 
house  they  went  past,  now  with  a  red,  now  with  a  green 
flare.  And  then  the  thousands  of  small  candles,  from  every 
one  In  the  throng,  from  carriages,  balconies,  verandas, 
sparkled  In  the  great  flame,   fighting  victoriously  with  the 


356  REMINISCENCES 

last  glimmer  of  daylight.  People  ran  like  mad  down  the 
Corso  and  fanned  out  the  lights  in  the  carriages.  But  many 
a  Roman  beauty  found  a  better  way  of  lighting  up  her 
features  without  exposing  herself  to  the  risk  of  having  her 
light  put  out.  Opposite  me,  for  instance,  on  the  second 
floor,  a  lovely  girl  was  standing  in  a  window.  In  the  shut- 
ter by  her  side  she  had  fixed  one  of  those  violent  red  flares 
so  that  she  stood  in  a  bright  light,  like  sunlight  seen  through 
red  glass,  and  it  was  impossible  not  to  notice  her.  Mean- 
while, the  people  on  the  balconies  held  long  poles  in 
their  hands,  with  which  they  unexpectedly  put  out  the  small 
candles  in  the  carriages.  You  heard  incessantly,  through 
the  confusion,  the  shouts  of  individuals  one  to  another,  and 
their  jubilation  when  a  long-attempted  and  cleverly  foiled  ex- 
tinguishing was  at  length  successful,  and  the  clapping  and 
shouts  of  bravo/  at  an  unusually  brightly  lighted  and  deco- 
rated carriage.  The  pickpockets  meanwhile  did  splendid 
business;  many  of  the  Danes  lost  their  money. 

At  eight  o'clock  I  was  in  bed  again,  and  shortly  after- 
wards the  people  of  the  house  came  home  for  a  moment. 
Filomena  looked  splendid,  and  was  very  talkative.  "  Lei  e 
ingrassato,"  she  called  in  through  the  door.  It  is  her  great 
pleasure  that  the  hollows  in  my  cheeks  are  gradually  disap- 
pearing. She  was  now  ascribing  a  special  efficacy  in  this 
direction  to  Moccoli  Eve. 

At  half-past  ten  in  the  morning,  there  is  a  curious  spec- 
tacle in  the  street  here.  At  that  time  Domenico  comes  and 
the  lottery  begins.  Lotteries  are  forbidden  in  Rome,  but 
Domenico  earns  his  ten  lire  a  day  by  them.  He  goes  about 
this  and  the  neighbouring  streets  bawling  and  shouting  until 
he  has  disposed  of  his  ninety  tickets. 

Girls  and  women  lean  out  through  the  windows  and  call 
out  the  numbers  they  wish  to  have — in  this  respect  they  are 
boundlessly  credulous.  They  do  not  believe  in  the  Pope; 
but  they  believe  that  there  are  numbers  which  they  must  be- 
come possessed  of  that  day,  even  at  the  highest  price,  which 
is  two  soldi.  The  soldi  are  thrown  out  through  the  window, 
and  each  one  remembers  her  own  number.     Then  Domen- 


FILO^IENA 


357 


ico  goes  through  all  the  numbers  in  a  loud  voice,  that  there 
may  be  no  cheating.  A  child  draws  a  number  out  of  the 
bag,  and  Domenico  shouts:  "  Listen,  all  Purificazione,  No. 
34  has  won,  listen,  Purificazione,  34  .  .  .  34."  The  dis- 
appointed faces  disappear  into  the  houses.  All  those  who 
have  had  23^  3S  ^^^  36  rail  against  unjust  Fate,  in  strong 
terms. 

At  the  first  rattle  of  the  lottery  bag,  Filomena  rushes 
in  here,  opens  the  window,  and  calls  for  a  certain  number. 
If  anyone  else  wants  it,  she  must  manage  to  find  two  soldi  in 
her  pocket.  If  I  fling  a  few  soldi  from  my  bed  towards  the 
window,  this  facilitates  the  search.  However,  we  never  win. 
Filomena  declares  that  I  have  indescribable  ill-luck  in  gam- 
bling, and  suggests  a  reason. 

She  was  again  singing  outside.  I  called  her,  wanting  to 
know  what  it  was  she  kept  singing  all  the  time.  "They  are 
songs  from  the  mountains,"  she  replied,  "  all  canzone 
d'amore."  "  Say  them  slowly,  Filomena.  I  will  write  them 
down."  I  began,  but  was  so  delighted  at  the  way  she  re- 
peated the  verses,  her  excellent  declamatory  and  rhythmic 
sense,  that  I  was  almost  unable  to  write.  And  to  my  surprise, 
I  discovered  that  they  were  all  what  we  call  ritornellos.  But 
written  down,  they  are  dull  larva?,  compared  with  what  they 
are  with  the  proper  pronunciation  and  expression.  What  is 
it  Byron  says?: 

I  love  the  language,  that  soft  bastard  Latin, 
Which  melts  like  kisses  from  a  female  mouth, 
And  sounds  as  if  it  should  be   writ  on  satin. 

I  shall  really  feel  a  void  when  Filomena  goes  away. 
The  unfortunate  part  of  it  is  that  her  dialect  pronun- 
ciation is  so  difficult  to  make  out,  and  that  she  swallows 
so  many  syllables  in  order  to  make  the, metre  right,  as  there 
are  generally  too  many  feet,  and  it  is  only  the  delicacy  of  her 
declamation  that  makes  up  for  the  incorrectness  of  the 
rhymes  and  the  verses.  For  instance,  she  constantly  says  lo 
instead  of  il  {lo  soldato),  and  she  can  never  tell  me  how 
many  words  there  are  in  a  line,  since  neither  she  nor  Maria 


358  REMINISCENCES 

knows  what  a  single  word,  as  opposed  to  several,  Is,  and  be- 
cause it  is  no  use  spelling  the  word  to  her  and  asking:  "  Is 
that  right?  "  since  she  cannot  spell,  and  does  not  recognise 
the  letters.  Saredo  tells  me  that  a  driver  who  once  drove 
him  and  his  wife  about  for  five  da'^s  in  Tuscany  sang  all  day 
long  like  Filomena,  and  improvised  all  the  time.  This  is 
what  she,  too,  does  continually;  she  inserts  different  words 
which  have  about  the  same  meaning,  and  says:  "  It  is  all 
the  same  "  {c'e  la  stessa  cosa) .  On  the  other  hand,  she  al- 
ways keeps  to  the  metre,  and  that  with  the  most  graceful  in- 
tonation ;  never  a  faulty  verse : 

Fior  di  giacinto! 

La  donna  che  per  I'uomo  piange  tanto— 

II   pianto  delle   donne  e  pianto  finto. 

Amore  mio! 

Non  prendite  le  fiori  di  nessuno, 

Se  vuoi  un   garofletto,  lo  do  io. 

Fior  di  limone ! 

Limone  e  agra,  e  le  fronde  son'  amare, 

Ma  son'  piu'   amare   le  pene  d'amor'. 

Lo  mi'  amore  che  si  chiama  Peppe, 
Lo  primo  giuocatore  delle  carte 
Prende  'sto  cuore  e  giuoca  a  tre-sette.^ 

In  this  way  I  wrote  out  some  scores. 

Spent  an  hour  teaching  Filomena  her  large  letters  up 
to  N,  and  making  her  say  them  by  rote,  and  with  that  end 
in  view  have  divided  them  into  three  portions — ABCD — 
EFG — ILMN.     She  manages  all  right,  except  that  she  al- 

^  Flower  of  the  hyacinth  ! 

The  woman  who  weeps  so  much  for  the  man's  sake — 

Yet,   the  complaint  of  women   is   a   feigned  one, 

My  love ! 

Do  not  accept  flowers  from   anyone. 

If  thou  wilt  have  a  wall-flower,  I  will  give  it  thee. 

Flower  of   the   lemon ! 

The   lemon   is  sharp,   and   its   leaves   are  bitter; 

But  more  bitter  are  the   torments  of  love. 

My  beloved,  whose  name  is  Peppe, 

He  is  the  first  to  play  cards, 

He  has  taken  this  heart  and  is  playing  a  game  of  Three  to  Seven  with   it. 


FILOMENA  359 

ways  jumps  E  and  L.  Lesson  closed:  "Were  you  at 
church  to-day,  Filomena?"  "No,  I  have  nothing  to  con- 
fess." "Did  you  go  to  church  last  Sunday?"  "No,  I 
have  not  been  for  six  weeks  ilow.  1  have  committed  no  sin. 
What  wrong  do  I  do?  1  nave  no  love  affair,  nothing." 
"  What  used  you  to  confess?  "  "  A  few  bad  words,  which 
had  slipped  out.  Now  1  do  nothing  wrong."  "  But  one 
can  go  wrong,  without  committing  any  sin,  when  one  is  high- 
minded,  for  instance."  "  I  am  not  high-minded.  If  you, 
on  the  other  hand,  were  to  imagine  yourself  better  than  the 
friends  who  come  to  visit  you,  that  would  be  quite  natural; 
for  you  are  better." 

The  day  has  been  long.  This  evening  the  girl  had  er- 
rands to  do  for  me.  She  came  in  here  after  her  Sunday 
walk  in  the  Campagna.  I  said:  "  Shall  we  read?  "  (Just 
then  a  band  of  young  people  passed  along  the  street  with  a 
harmonica  and  a  lot  of  castanets,  and  commenced  a  song  in 
honour  of  Garibaldi.  With  all  its  simplicity,  it  sounded  un- 
speakably affecting;  I  was  quite  softened.)  She  replied: 
"With  pleasure."  I  thought  to  myself:  "Now  to  see 
whether  she  remembers  a  word  of  what  I  said  to  her  yes- 
terday." But  she  went  on  at  once:  "  Signore,  I  have  been 
industrious."  She  had  bought  herself  an  ABC  and  had 
taught  herself  alone  not  only  all  the  large  letters,  but  also 
all  the  little  ones,  and  had  learnt  them  all  off  by  heart  as 
well.  I  was  so  astonished  that  I  almost  fell  back  in  the  bed. 
"But  what  is  this,  Filomena?  Have  you  learnt  to  read 
from  someone  else?"  "No,  only  from  you  yesterday. 
But  for  five  years  my  only  wish  has  been  to  learn  to  read, 
and  I  am  so  glad  to  be  able  to."  I  wanted  to  teach  her  to 
spell.  "  I  almost  think  I  can  a  little."  And  she  was  al- 
ready so  far  that — without  spelling  first — she  read  a  whole 
page  of  two-letter  spellings,  almost  without  a  mistake.  She 
certainly  very  often  said :  "  Da — ad,"  or  read  fo  for  of,  but 
her  progress  was  amazing.  When  she  spells,  she  takes  the 
words  as  a  living  reality,  not  merely  as  words,  and  adds 
something  to  them,  for  instance,  s — a,  sa;  I — /,  //;  r — e,  re: 
salire  die  scale,  (jump  down  the  stairs.)    "  Filomena,  I  could 


36o  REMINISCENCES 

teach  you  to  read  in  three  weeks."  She:  "  I  have  always 
thought  it  the  greatest  shame  for  a  man  or  woman  not  to  be 
able  to  read."  I  told  her  something  about  the  progress  of 
the  human  race,  that  the  first  men  and  women  had  been  like 
animals,  not  at  all  like  Adam  and  Eve.  "  Do  you  think  I 
believe  that  Eve  ate  an  apple  and  that  the  serpent  could 
speak?  Non  credo  niente.  Such  things  are  like  mal'occhi 
(belief  in  the  evil  eye)."  And  without  any  transition,  she 
begins,  sempre  allegra,  as  she  calls  herself — to  sing  a  gay 
song.  Just  now  she  is  exceedingly  delighted  with  a  certain 
large  red  shawl.  There  came  a  pedlar  to  the  door;  she 
sighed  deeply  at  the  sight  of  the  brilliant  red;  so  I  gave 
it  her. 

She  is  a  great  lover  and  a  connoisseur  of  wine,  like  my- 
self. We  taste  and  drink  together  every  dinner-time.  As 
she  always  waits  upon  me,  I  often  give  her  a  little  cake  and 
wine  while  I  am  eating.  Now  we  have  begun  a  new  wine, 
white  Roman  muscat.  But  I  change  my  wine  almost  every 
other  day.  Filomena  had  taken  the  one  large  bottle  and 
stacked  up  newspapers  round  it  on  the  table,  so  that  if  K.  B. 
came  he  should  not  see  it.  It  so  happened  that  he  came  to- 
day, whilst  I  was  dining  and  she  eating  with  me.  There 
was  a  ring;  she  wanted  to  go.  "  Stay;  perhaps  it  is  not  for 
me  at  all;  and  in  any  case,  I  do  not  ask  anyone's  permission 
for  you  to  be  here."  He  came  in,  and  said  in  Danish,  as 
he  put  his  hat  down :  "  Oh,  so  you  let  the  girl  of  the  house 
dine  with  you ;  I  should  not  care  for  that."  Filomena,  who 
noticed  his  glance  in  her  direction,  and  his  gesture,  said,  with 
as  spiteful  a  look,  and  in  as  cutting  a  voice  as  she  could  mus- 
ter: " //  slgnore  prende  il  stto  pranzo  con  chi  lid  pare  e 
place. ^'  (The  gentleman  eats  with  whomsoever  he  pleases.) 
"  Does  she  understand  Danish?  "  he  asked,  in  astonishment. 
"  It  looks  like  it,"  I  replied.  When  he  had  gone,  her  fur'ia 
broke  loose.  I  saw  her  exasperated  for  the  first  time,  and  it 
sat  very  comically  upon  her.  "  Did  you  ask  him  whom  he 
eats  with?  Did  he  say  I  was  ugly?  Did  you  ask  him 
whether  his  ragazza  was  prettier?  "  (She  meant  a  Danish 
lady,  a  married  woman,  with  whom  she  had  frequently  met 
K.  B.  in  the  street.) 


FILOMENA  3G1 

She  said  to  me  yesterday:  "  There  Is  one  thing  I  can 
do,  sir,  that  you  cannot.  I  can  carry  200  pounds'  weight 
on  my  head.  I  can  carry  two  conchas,  or,  if  you  like  to  try 
me,  all  that  wood  lying  there."  She  has  the  proud  bearing 
of  the  Romans. 

Read  with  Filomena  for  an  hour  and  a  half.  She 
can  now  spell  words  with  three  letters  fairly  well.  This 
language  has  such  a  sweet  ring  that  her  spelling  is  like 
music.  And  to  see  the  innocent  reverence  with  which  she 
says  g-r-a,  gra, — it  is  what  a  poet  might  envy  me.  And 
then  the  earnest,  enquiring  glance  she  gives  me  at  the  end 
of  every  line.  It  is  marvellous  to  see  this  complete  absorp- 
tion of  a  grown-up  person  in  the  study  of  a-b,  ab,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  there  is  something  almost  great  in  this  raven- 
ous thirst  for  knowledge,  combined  with  incredulity  of  all 
tradition.  It  is  a  model  such  as  this  that  the  poets  should 
have  had  for  their  naive  characters.  In  Goethe's  Roman 
Elegies,  the  Roman  woman's  figure  Is  very  inconspicuous; 
she  is  not  drawn  as  a  genuine  woman  of  the  people,  she  is  not 
naive.  He  knew  a  Faustina,  but  one  feels  that  he  after- 
wards slipped  a  German  model  Into  her  place.  Filomeni 
has  the  uncompromising  honesty  and  straightforwardness 
of  an  unspoilt  soul.  Her  glance  Is  not  exactly  pure,  but  free 
— how  shall  I  describe  it?  Full,  grand,  simple.  With  a 
concha  on  her  head,  she  would  look  like  a  caryatid.  If  I 
compare  her  mentally  with  a  feminine  character  of  another 
poet,  Lamartlne's  Grazlella,  an  Italian  girl  of  the  lower 
classes,  like  herself,  I  cannot  but  think  Grazlella  thin  and 
poetised,  down  to  her  name.  The  narrator,  If  I  remember 
rightly,  teaches  her  to  read,  too;  but  Grazlella  herself  does 
not  desire  It;  It  Is  he  who  educates  her.  Filomena,  on  the 
contrary,  with  her  anxiety  to  learn,  Is  an  example  and  a 
symbol  of  a  great  historic  movement,  the  poor,  oppressed 
Roman  people's  craving  for  light  and  knowledge.  Of 
Italy's  population  of  twenty-six  millions,  according  to  the 
latest,  most  recent  statistics,  seventeen  millions  can  neither 
read  nor  write.  She  said  to  me  to-day:  "What  do  you 
really  think,  sir,  do  you  not  believe  that  the  Holy  Ghost 
is  una  virtu  and  cannot  be  father  of  the  child?  "     "  You  arc 


562  REMINISCENCES 

right,  Filomena."  "  That  is  why  I  never  pray."  "  Some 
day,  when  you  are  very  unhappy,  perhaps  you  will  pray." 
"1  have  been  very  unhappy;  when  1  was  a  child  1  used 
to  suffer  horribly  from  hunger.  I  had  to  get  up  at  five 
o'clock  In  the  morning  to  work  and  got  eight  soldi  for  stand- 
ing all  day  long  in  a  vineyard  in  the  sun  and  digging  with 
a  spade,  and  as  corn  was  dear  and  meat  dear,  we  seven  chil- 
dren seldom  had  a  proper  meal.  Last  year,  too,  I  was  hun- 
gry often,  for  it  was  as  the  proverb  says :  '  If  I  eat,  I  cannot 
dress  myself,  and  if  I  dress  myself  I  cannot  eat.'  (What  a 
sad  and  illuminating  proverb!)  Sir,  if  there  were  any 
Paradise,  you  would  go  there,  for  what  you  do  for  me.  If  I 
can  only  read  and  write,  I  can  earn  twice  as  much  as  I  other- 
wise could.  Then  I  can  be  a  cameriera,  and  bring  my  mis- 
tress a  written  account  of  expenditure  every  week." 

Filomena  knows  that  Saredo  Is  a  professor  at  the  Uni- 
versity. But  she  does  not  know  what  a  professor  or  a  Uni- 
versity is.  She  puts  her  question  like  this:  "  Probably  my 
Idea  of  what  a  university  Is,  may  not  be  quite  correct?  " 

No  one  comes  now.  An  Invalid  Is  very  Interesting  at 
first,  and  arouses  sympathy.  If  he  continue  ill  too  long, 
people  unconsciously  think  It  Impossible  for  him  to  get  well, 
and  stay  away.  So  the  only  resource  left  me  all  day  Is  to 
chat  with  Filomena,  to  whom  Maria  has  entrusted  the  nurs- 
ing of  me.  Every  evening  I  read  with  her;  yesterday  she 
had  her  fourth  lesson,  and  could  almost  read  straight  off. 
Her  complexion  and  the  lower  part  of  her  face  are  like  a 
child's;  her  undeveloped  mental  state  reveals  Itself,  thus  far, 
In  her  appearance.  I  told  her  yesterday,  as  an  experiment, 
that  there  were  five  continents  and  In  each  of  them  many 
countries,  but  she  cannot  understand  yet  what  I  mean,  as  she 
has  no  conception  of  what  the  earth  looks  like.  She  does 
not  even  know  In  what  direction  from  Rome  her  native  vil- 
lage, Camerino,  lies.  I  will  try  to  get  hold  of  a  m.ap,  or  a 
globe.  Yesterday,  we  read  the  word  hiferno.  She  said: 
"There  is  no  hell;  things  are  bad  enough  on  earth;  If  we 
are  to  burn  afterwards,  there  would  be  two  hells."  "  Good 
gracious  I  Filomena,  is  life  so  bad?  Why,  you  sing  all  day 
long."     "  I  sing-  because  I  am  well ;  that  is  perfectly  natural, 


FILOMENA  363 

but  how  can  I  be  content  ?  "  "  What  do  you  wish  for  then  ?  " 
"  So  much  money  (denari)  that  I  should  be  sure  of  never 
being  hungry  again.  You  do  not  know  how  It  hurts.  Then 
there  Is  one  other  thing  I  should  like,  but  It  Is  impossible.  I 
should  like  not  to  die;  I  am  so  horribly  afraid  of  death.  I 
should  certainly  wish  there  were  a  Paradise.  But  who  can 
tell!  Still,  my  grandmother  lived  to  be  a  hundred  all  but 
three  years,  and  she  was  never  ill  for  a  day;  when  she  was 
only  three  years  from  being  a  hundred  she  still  went  to  the 
fields  like  the  rest  of  us  and  worked,  and  was  like  a  young 
woman  (giovanotta) .  Mother  is  forty-two,  but  although 
she  is  two  years  older  than  my  aunt,  she  looks  quite  young. 
Chi  lo  sa!  Perhaps  I  may  live  to  be  a  hundred  too,  never  be 
ill — I  never  have  been  yet,  one  single  day, — and  then  go  in 
and  lie  down  on  the  bed  like  she  did  and  be  dead  at  once," 

"She  really  is  sweet!"  said  R.  this  evening.  The 
word  does  not  fit.  Her  laugh,  her  little  grimaces,  her  witti- 
cisms, quaint  conceits  and  gestures  are  certainly  very  attrac- 
tive, but  her  mode  of  expression,  when  she  is  talking  freely, 
is  very  unreserved,  and  if  I  were  to  repeat  some  of  her  re- 
marks to  a  stranger,  he  would  perhaps  think  her  coarse  or 
loose.  "  We  shall  see  what  sort  of  a  girl  you  bring  home  to 
us  when  you  are  well  again,  and  whether  you  have  as  good 
taste  as  our  Frenchman.  Or  perhaps  you  would  rather  visit 
her?  I  know  how  a  fine  gentleman  behaves,  when  he  visits 
his  friend.  She  is  often  a  lady,  and  rich.  He  comes,  knocks 
softly  at  the  door,  sits  down,  and  talks  about  difficult  and 
learned  things.  Then  he  begs  for  a  kiss,  she  flings  her  arms 
round  his  neck;  allora,  il  letto  rifatto,  va  via."  She  neither 
blushes  nor  feels  the  slightest  embarrassment  when  she  talks 
like  this.  *'  How  do  you  know  such  things,  when  you  have 
no  experience?"  "People  have  told  me;  I  know  it  from 
hearsay.  I  myself  have  never  been  in  love,  but  I  believe 
that  it  is  possible  to  love  one  person  one's  whole  life  long, 
and  never  grow  tired  of  him,  and  never  love  another.  You 
said  the  other  day  (for  a  joke?)  that  people  ought  to  marry 
for  a  year  or  six  months;  but  I  believe  that  one  can  love  the 
same  person  always." 

In  such  chat  my  days  pass  by.     I  feel  as  though  I  had 


3^4  REMINISCENCES 

dropped  down  somewhere  In  the  Sabine  Mountahis,  been 
well  received  In  a  house — Maria  Is  from  Camarino,  too, — 
and  were  living  there  hidden  from  the  world  among  these  big 
children. 

Yesterday,  Uncle  had  his  National  Guard  uniform  on 
for  the  first  time.  He  came  in  to  show  himself,  I  told 
him  that  it  suited  him  very  well,  which  delighted  him.  FIlo- 
mena  exhibited  him  with  admiration.  When  Maria  came 
home  later  on,  she  asked  the  others  at  once:  "Has  the 
signore  seen  him?  What  did  he  say?  Does  not  he  want 
to  see  him  again?  " 

Written  down  a  score  of  ritornellos;  I  have  chosen  the 
best  of  them.  Many  of  them  are  rather,  or  very,  indecent. 
But,  as  Filomena  says :  "  You  do  not  go  to  Hell  for  singing 
canzone;  you  cannot  help  what  they  are  like."  The  inde- 
cent ones  she  will  only  say  at  a  terrific  rate,  and  not  a  second 
time.  But  If  one  pay  attention,  they  are  easy  to  understand. 
They  are  a  mixture  of  audacity  and  simple  vulgarity.  They 
all  begin  with  flowers.  She  is  too  undeveloped  to  share  the 
educated  girl's  abhorrence  of  things  that  are  in  bad  taste; 
everything  natural,  she  thinks,  can  be  said,  and  she  speaks 
out,  quite  unperturbed.  Still,  now  she  understands  that 
there  are  certain  things — impossible  things — that  I  do  not 
like  to  hear  her  say. 

I  was  sitting  cutting  a  wafer  (to  take  powders  with) 
into  oblates.  She:  "  You  must  not  cut  Into  consecrated 
things,  not  even  put  the  teeth  into  It,  The  priest  says: 
'  Thou  shalt  not  bite  Christ.'  "  Unfortunately,  she  has  not 
any  real  Impression  of  religion,  either  of  its  beauty  or  Its  un- 
derlying truth.  None  of  them  have  any  Idea  of  what  the 
New  Testament  Is  or  contains;  they  do  not  know  Its  best- 
known  quotations  and  stones.  Religion,  to  them,  is  four  or 
five  rigmaroles,  which  are  printed  In  our  Abecedario,  the 
Creed,  the  Ave  Maria,  the  various  Sacraments,  etc.,  which 
they  know  by  heart.  These  they  reject,  but  they  have  not 
the  slightest  conception  of  what  Christianity  Is.  If  I  quote 
a  text  from  the  New  Testament,  they  have  never  heard  it. 


FILOA/[ENA  365 

But  they  can  run  the  seven  cardinal  virtues,  and  the  seven 
other  virtues,  off  by  rote.  One  of  these  last,  that  of  in- 
structing the  ignorant,  is  a  virtue  which  the  priesthood 
(partly  for  good  reasons)  have  not  practised  to  any  remark- 
able extent  in  this  country. 

Yesterday  Maria  came  home  in  a  state  of  great  delight, 
from  a  trattoria,  where  a  gentleman  had  spoken  lanto  bene, 
tanto  bene  against  religion  and  the  Pope  and  the  priests; 
there  were  a  few  Caccialepri  present  (a  derogatory  expres- 
sion for  adherents  of  the  priests),  who  had  just  had  to  come 
down  a  peg  or  two.  When  she  had  finished,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, she  said  to  me,  exactly  this:  "  It  is  Nature  that  is 
God,  is  It  not  so?  " 

An  expression  almost  symbolical  of  the  ignorance  and 
credulity  of  the  Romans  is  their  constant  axiom,  Chi  lo  sa? 
(Who  knows?)  I  said  to  Maria  the  other  day,  after  she 
had  said  it  for  the  fourth  time  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour:  "  My 
good  Maria !  The  beginning  of  wisdom  is  not  to  fear  God, 
but  to  say  Perche?  (why?),  instead  of  Chi  lo  sa?  " 

Yesterday,  while  I  was  eating  my  dinner,  I  heard  Filo- 
mena's  story.  She  came  to  Rome  last  December:  "  You 
think  I  came  because  Maria  wanted  to  help  mother.  I  came 
to  Rome  because  there  was  a  man  who  wanted  to  marry 
me."  "  What  was  his  name?"  "  His  name  was  Peppe." 
*'  Lo  mi'  amore,  che  si  chiama  Peppe.''  ..."  Ah,  I  do  not 
love  him  at  all.  No,  the  thing  is  that  at  Camerlno  all  the 
men  beat  their  wives.  My  sister,  for  instance,  has  always  a 
black  eye,  and  red  stripes  on  her  back.  My  friend  Marietta 
always  gets  beaten  by  her  husband,  and  the  more  he  beats 
her,  the  more  she  loves  him :  sometimes  she  goes  away  from 
him  for  a  few  days  to  her  sister,  but  she  always  goes  back 
nfraln."  "What  has  that  to  do  with  our  friend  Peppe?" 
"  Well,  you  see,  mother  knew  that  Peppe's  brother  beat  his 
wife  all  day  and  all  night;  so  she  would  not  give  me  to  him." 
"  Yes,  it  was  bad,  if  It  were  a  family  falling."  "  So  one 
evening  father  said  to  me:  'Your  aunt  has  written  to  us 
from  Rome,  to  ask  whether  you  will  pay  her  a  visit  of  a 
few  days.'  And  he  showed  me  a  false  letter.  Aunt  cannot 
write  and  knew  nothing  about  any  letter.     I  did  not  want 


366  REMINISCENCES 

to,  much,  said  I  would  not,  but  came  here  all  the  same,  and 
found  that  I  was  to  stay  here,  and  that  mother  did  not  want 
me  to  have  Peppe.  So  I  began  to  cry,  and  for  five  whole 
days  I  cried  all  the  time  and  would  neither  eat  nor  drink. 
Then  I  thought  to  myself:  It  is  all  over  between  Peppe 
and  me.  Shall  I  cry  myself  to  death  for  a  man?  So  I 
left  off  crying,  and  very  soon  forgot  all  about  him.  And 
after  a  week's  time  I  did  not  care  anything  about  the  whole 
matter,  and  sang  and  was  happy,  and  now  I  want  to  stay  in 
Rome  always." 

Last  night  I  got  up  for  a  little,  read  with  Filomena, 
and  determined  to  go  in  and  have  supper  with  the  family  in 
their  little  room.  Filomena  opened  the  door  wide,  and 
called  out  along  the  corridor:  ''''  Eccolo!  "  and  then  such 
a  welcome  as  there  was  for  the  invalid,  now  that  he  had  at 
last  got  up !  and  I  was  obliged  to  drink  two  large  beer-glasses 
of  the  home-grown  wine.  First  Maria  told  how  it  was 
that  I  had  always  had  everything  so  punctually  whilst  I  was 
ill.  It  was  because  Filomena  had  made  the  little  boy  from 
the  cafe  believe  that  I  was  going  to  give  him  my  watch  when 
I  got  well,  if  he  never  let  anything  get  cold.  So  the  boy  ran 
as  though  possessed,  and  once  fell  down  the  stairs  and  broke 
everything  to  atoms,  "  He  is  delirious,"  said  Filomena  one 
day,  "  and  talks  of  nothing  but  of  giving  you  his  watch." 
"  How  can  he  be  so  ill,"  said  the  boy  suspiciously,  "  when 
he  eats  and  drinks?  "  "  Do  you  want  the  watch  or  not?  " 
said  Filomena,  and  off  the  lad  ran.  I  let  the  others  enter- 
tain me,  Maria  said:  "  You  told  Filomena  something  yes- 
terday about  savages;  I  know  something  about  them,  too. 
Savage  people  live  in  China,  and  the  worst  of  all  are  called 
Mandarins.  Do  you  know  what  one  of  them  did  to  an 
Italian  lady?  She  was  with  her  family  over  there;  suddenly 
there  came  a  Mandarin,  carried  her  off,  and  shut  her  up  in 
his  house.  They  never  found  her  again.  Then  he  had 
three  children  by  her;  but  one  day  he  went  out  and  forgot 
to  shut  the  door;  she  ran  quickly  out  of  the  house,  down  to 
the  water,  and  saw  a  ship  far  away.  Do  you  know  what 
the  mandarin  did,  sir,  when  he  came  home  and  found  that 


FILOMENA  367 

his  wife  was  gone?  He  took  the  three  children,  tore  them 
through  the  middle,  and  threw  the  pieces  out  into  the  street." 
It  reminded  one  of  Lucidarius,  and  other  mediaeval  legends. 
Then  our  good  zio,  the  honest  uncle,  began,  and  told  Maria 
and  Filomena  the  history  of  Napoleon  I.,  fairly  correctly. 
He  had  heard  it  from  his  master  Leonardo,  who  taught  him 
his  trade;  the  man  had  taken  part  in  five  of  the  campaigns. 
The  only  egregious  mistake  he  made  was  that  he  thought 
the  Austrians  had  gradually  poisoned  the  Duke  of  Reich- 
stadt,  because  he  threatened  to  become  even  more  formid- 
able than  his  father.  But  that  the  old  grenadier  might  easily 
have  believed.  The  thing  that  astonished  me  was  that  the 
narrative  did  not  make  the  slightest  impression  upon  either 
Maria  or  Filomena.  I  asked  Filomena  if  she  did  not  think 
it  was  very  remarkable.  But  she  clearly  had  a  suspicion 
that  it  was  all  lies,  besides,  what  has  happened  in  the  world 
before  her  day  is  of  as  little  importance  to  her  as  what  goes 
on  in  another  planet;  finally,  she  abominates  war.  Zio  con- 
cluded his  story  with  childlike  self-satisfaction:  "When  I 
learnt  about  all  this,  I  was  only  an  apprentice;  now  I  am 
mastro  Nino." 

These  last  few  days  that  I  have  been  able  to  stumble 
about  the  room  a  little,  I  have  had  a  feeling  of  delight  and 
happiness  such  as  I  have  hardly  experienced  before.  The 
very  air  is  a  fete.  The  little  black-haired  youngsters,  run- 
ning about  this  picturesquely  steep  street,  are  my  delight, 
whenever  T  look  out  of  the  window.  All  that  is  in  front  of 
me:  the  splendours  of  Rome,  the  Summer,  the  art  of  Italy, 
Naples  in  the  South,  Venice  in  the  North,  makes  my  heart 
beat  fast  and  my  head  swim.  I  only  need  to  turn  round 
from  the  window  and  see  Filomena  standing  behind  me, 
knitting,  posed  like  a  living  picture  by  Kiichler  to  feel,  with 
jubilation :  I  am  In  Rome.  Saredo  came  to-May  at  twelve 
o'clock,  and  saw  me  dressed  for  the  first  time.  I  had  put  on 
my  nicest  clothes.  I  called  Filomena,  had  three  dinners 
fetched,  and  seated  betvveen  him  and  her,  T  had  my  banquet. 
I  had  just  said:  "  I  will  not  eat  any  soup  to-day,  unless  it 
should  happen  to  "be  Znppa  d'Jierba.      Filomena  fook  the 


368  REMINISCENCES 

lid  off  and  cried :  "  A  pinito."  This  is  how  all  my  wishes  are 
fulfilled  now.  I  had  a  fine,  light  red  wine.  It  tasted  so 
good  that  if  the  gods  had  known  it  they  would  have  poured 
their  nectar  into  the  washtub.  tdomena  poured  it  out,  sing- 
ing: 

L'acqua  fa  mare, 

II  vino  fa  cantare; 
II   sugo   della   gresta 

Fa   gira'   la  testa. 

(Water   is   bad    for   one; 

Wine  makes  one  sing; 
The   juice   of   the   grape 

Makes   the   head   swim.) 

To-morrow  I  may  go  out.     After  Sunday,  I  shall  leave 
off  dining  at  home.     On  Sunday  Filomena  goes  to  Camerino. 


SECOND    LONGER    STAY    ABROAD 

(Continued^ 

Reflections  on  the  Future  of  Denmark — Conversations  with     Guiseppe  Saredo 
— Frascati — Native     Beauty — New     Susceptibilities — Georges    Noufflard's 
Influence — The   Sistine   Chapel   and   Michael   Angelo — Raphael's   Loggias 
— A  Radiant  Spring. 


SAREDO  said  to  me  one  day:  "  I  am  not  going  to 
flatter  you — I  have  no  interest  in  doing  so;  but 
I  am  going  to  giv^e  you  a  piece  of  advice,  which 
you  ought  to  thinlc  over.  Stay  in  Italy,  settle  down 
here,  and  you  will  reach  a  far  higher  position  than  you 
can  possibly  attain  in  your  own  country.  The  in- 
tellectual education  you  possess  is  exceedingly  rare  in 
Italy;  what  I  can  say,  without  exaggeration,  is  that  in  this 
country  it  is  so  extraordinary  that  it  might  be  terined  an  ac- 
tive force.  Within  two  years  you  would  be  a  power  in  Italy, 
at  home,  you  will  never  be  more  than  a  professor  at  a  Uni- 
versity. Stay  here !  Villari  and  I  will  help  you  over  your 
first  difficulties.  Write  in  French,  or  Italian,  which  you  like, 
and  as  you  are  master  of  the  entire  range  of  Germanic  cul- 
ture, which  scarcely  any  man  in  Italy  is,  you  will  acquire  an 
influence  of  which  you  have  not  the  least  conception.  A 
prophet  is  never  honoured  in  his  own  country.  We,  on  the 
other  hand,  need  you.  So  stay  here !  Take  Max  Miiller  as 
an  example.  It  is  with  individuals  as  with  nations;  it  is  only 
when  ihcy  change  their  soil  that  they  attain  their  full  de- 
velopment and  realise  their  own  strength." 

I  replied :  "  I  am  deaf  to  that  sort  of  thing.  I  love 
the  Danish  language  too  well  ever  to  forsake  it.  Only  in 
the  event  of  my  settlement  in  Denmark  meeting  with  oppo- 

369 


370  REAIINISCENCES 

sltlon,  and  being  rendered  impossible,  shall  I  strap  on  my 
knapsack,  gird  up  my  loins,  and  hie  me  to  France  or  Italy; 
I  am  glad  to  hear  that  the  world  is  not  so  closed  to  me  as 
I  had  formerly  believed." 

My  thoughts  were  much  engaged  on  my  sick-bed  by  re- 
flections upon  the  future  of  Denmark.  The  following  entry 
is  dated  March  8,  1871  : 

What  do  we  mean  by  our  national  future,  which  we  talk  so  much  about? 
We  do  not  purpose  to  extend  our  borders,  to  make  conquests,  or  play  any 
part  in  politics.  For  that,  as  is  well  comprehensible,  we  know  we  are  too 
weak.  I  will  leave  alone  the  question  as  to  whether  it  is  possible  to  live 
without,  in  one  way  or  another,  growing,  and  ask:  What  do  we  want? 
To  continue  to  exist.  How  exist?  We  want  to  get  Slesvig  back  again, 
for  as  it  is  we  are  not  existing;  we  are  sickening,  or  else  we  are  living 
like  those  lower  animals  who  even  when  they  are  cut  in  pieces,  are  quite 
nimble;  but  it  is  a  miserable  life.  We  are  in  a  false  position  with  regard 
to  Germany.  The  centripetal  force  that  draws  the  individual  members  of 
one  nationality  together,  and  which  we  in  Denmark  call  Danishness,  that 
which,  further,  draws  nationalities  of  the  same  family  together,  and  which 
in  Denmark  is  called  Scandinai'ianism,  must  logically  lead  to  a  sympathy  for 
the  merging  of  the  entire  race,  a  kind  of  Got/iogermanism.  If  we  seek  sup- 
port from  France,  we  shall  be  behaving  like  the  Poles,  turning  for  help  to  a 
foreign  race  against  a  nation  of  our  own.  I  accuse  us,  not  of  acting  impru- 
dently, but  of  fighting  against  a  natural  force  that  is  stronger  than  we. 
We  can  only  retard,  we  cannot  annihilate,  the  attraction  exerted  by  the 
greater  masses  on  the  lesser.  We  can  only  hope  that  we  may  not  live  to  feel 
the  agony. 

Holland  and  Denmark  are  both  threatened  by  Germany,  for  in  this 
geography  is  the  mighty  ally  of  Germany.  The  most  enlightened  Dane 
can  only  cherish  the  hope  that  Denmark,  conquered,  or  not  conquered, 
will  brave  it  out  long  enough  for  universal  civilisation,  by  virtue  of  the 
level  it  has  reached,  to  bring  our  independence  with  it.  As.  far  as  the 
hope  which  the  majority  of  Danes  cherish  is  concerned  (including  the  noble 
professors  of  philosophy),  of  a  time  when  Nemesis  (reminiscence  of  the- 
ology!), shall  descend  on  Prussia,  this  hope  is  only  an  outcome  of  foolishness. 
And  even  a  Nemesis  upon  Prussia  will  never  hurt  Germany,  and  thus  will 
not  help  us. 

But  the  main  question  is  this:  If  we— either  through  a  peaceable  res- 
toration of  Slesvig,  or  after  fresh  wars,  or  through  the  dawning  of  ari 
era  of  peace  and  civilisation — regain  our  integrity  and  independence,  shall 
we  exist  then?  Not  at  all.  Then  we  shall  sicken  again.  A  country 
like  Denmark,  even  including  Slesvig,  is  nowadays  no  country  at  all. 
A  tradesp-an  who«e  whole  capital  consists  of  ten  rigsdaler  is  no  tradesnnan. 
The  large  capitals  swallow  up  the  small.  The  small  must  seek  their  salva- 
tion in  associations,  partnerships,  joint-stock  companies,  etc. 

Our  misfortune  lies  in  the  fact  that  there  is  no  other  countrv  with  which 
we  can  enter  into  partnership  except  Sweden  and  Norway,  a  little,  unimpor- 
tant state  By  means  of  this  association,  which  for  the  time  being,  is  our 
sheet-anchor,  and  which,  by  dint  of  deploying  enormous  energy^  might  be  of 
some  importance,  we  can  at  best  retard  our  destruction  by  a  year  or  two. 
But  the  future!     Has  Denmark   any   future? 

It  was  France  who,  to  her  own  unsoeakable  injurv,  discovered,  or  rather, 
first  proclaimed,  the  nrinciple  of  nationalirv,  a  principle  \YhIch  at  mo«t 
could  only  give  her  Belgium  and  French  Switzerland,  two  neutral  countries, 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Continued    371 

guaranteed  Jby  Europe,  but  which  gave  Italy  to  Piedmont,  Germany  to  Prus- 
sia, and  wiiich  one  day  will  give  Russia  supremacy  over  all  tlie  Slavs. 
Even  liefore  the  war,  France  was,  as  it  were,  squeezed  between  bucklers;  she 
had  no  possible  chance  of  gaining  anything  through  her  own  precious  prin- 
ciple, and  did  not  even  dare  to  apply  it  to  the  two  above-mentioned  points. 
While  she  fearfully  allowed  herself  to  be  awarded  Savoy  and  Nice,  Prussia 
grew  from  nineteen  million  inhabitants  to  fifty  millions;  and  probably  in  a 
few  years  the  Germans  of  Austria  will  fall  to  Germany  as  well.  Then 
came  the  war,  and  its  outcome  was  in  every  particular  what  Prevost-Paradol, 
with  his  keen  foresight,  had  predicted:  "Afterwards,"  he  wrote,  "France 
with  Paris,  will  take  up  in  Europe  the  same  position  as  Hellas  with  Athens 
assumed  in  the  old  Roman  empire;  it  will  become  the  city  of  taste  and  the 
noble  delights;  but  it  will  never  be  able  to  regain  its  power."  It  has,  in  fact 
been  killed  by  this  very  theory  of  nationality;  for  the  only  cognate  races, 
Spain  and  Italy,  are  two  countries  of  which  the  one  is  rotten,  the  other 
just  entered  upon  the  convalescent  stage.  Thus  it  is  clear  that  Germany  will, 
for  a  time,  exercise  the  supreme  sway  in  Europe.  But  the  future  belongs 
neither  to  her  nor  to  Russia,  but,  if  not  to  England  herself,  at  any  rate  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race,  which  has  revealed  a  power  of  expansion  in  comparison 
with  which  that  of  other  nations  is  too  small  to  count.  Germans  who  go  to 
North  America,  in  the  next  generation  speak  English.  The  English  have  a 
unique  capacity  for  spreading  themselves  and  introducing  their  language,  and 
the  power  vvhich  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  will  acquire  cannot  be  broken  in  course 
of  time  like  that  of  ancient  Rome;  for  there  are  no  barbarians  left,  and 
their  power  is  based,  not  on  conquest,  but  on  assimilation,  and  the  race  is 
being  rejuvenated   in   North   America. 

How  characteristic  it  is  of  our  poor  little  country  that  we  always  hear 
and  read  of  it  as  "one  of  the  oldest  kingdoms  in  the  world."  That  is  just  the 
pity  of  it.  If  we  were  only  a  young  country!  There  is  only  one  way  by  which 
we  can  rejuvenate  ourselves.  First,  to  merge  ourselves  into  a  Scandinavia; 
then,  when  this  is  well  done  and  well  secured,  to  approach  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race  to  which  we  are  akin.  Moral:  Become  an  Anglo-Saxon  and  study 
John  Stuart  Mill! 

And  I  studied  Mill  with  persevering  attention,  where 
he  was  difficult,  but  instructive,  to  follow,  as  in  the  Exam'ui- 
ation  of  Hamilton's  Philosophy,  which  renews  Berkeley's 
teachings,  and  I  read  him  with  delight  where,  accessible  and 
comprehensible,  he  proclaims  with  freshness  and  vigour  the 
gospel  of  a  new  age,  as  in  the  book  On  Liberty  and  the  one 
akin  to  it,  Represefitative  Government. 


II 


During  the  months  of  February  and  March,  my  con- 
versations with  Giuseppe  Saredo  had  been  all  I  lived  for. 
We  discussed  all  the  questions  which  one  or  both  of  us  had 
at  heart,  from  the  causes  of  the  expansion  of  Christianity, 
to  the  method  of  proportionate  representation  which  Sar- 


Z12  REMINISCENCES 

edo  knew,  and  correctly  traced  ba»k  to  Andras.  When  I 
complained  that,  by  reason  of  our  different  nationality,  we 
could  hardly  have  any  recollections  in  common,  and  by  rea- 
son of  our  different  languages,  could  never  cite  a  familiar 
adage  from  childhood,  or  quote  a  common  saying  from  a 
play,  that  the  one  could  not  thoroughly  enjoy  the  harmony 
of  verses  in  the  language  of  the  other,  Saredo  replied : 
"  You  are  no  more  a  Dane  than  I  am  an  Italian;  we  are  com- 
patriots in  the  great  fatherland  of  the  mind,  that  of  Shakes- 
peare and  Goethe,  John  Stuart  Mill,  Andras,  and  Cavour. 
This  land  is  the  land  of  humanity.  Nationality  is  milk,  hu- 
manity is  cream.  What  is  there  in  all  the  world  that  we 
have  not  in  common?  It  is  true  that  we  cannot  enjoy  to- 
gether the  harmony  of  some  Northern  verses,  but  we  can 
assimilate  together  all  the  great  ideas,  and  we  have  for  each 
other  the  attraction  of  the  relatively  unknown,  which  fellow- 
countrymen  have  not." 

He  very  acutely  characterised  his  Italian  compatriots: 
"  Our  intelligence  amounts  to  prudence  and  common  sense. 
At  a  distance  we  may  appear  self-luminous;  in  reality 
we  are  only  passivity  and  reflected  light.  Solferino  gave 
us  Lombardy,  Sadowa  gave  us  Venice,  Sedan  gave  us  Rome. 
We  were  just  active  enough  to  take  advantage  of  fortunate 
circumstances,  and  passively  clever  enough  not  to  wreck  our 
advantage  by  stupidity.  In  foreign  novels  we  are  scoundrels 
of  the  deepest  dye,  concocters  of  poisons  and  wholesale 
swindlers.  In  reality  we  are  indifferent  and  Indolent. 
Dolce  far  niente,  these  words,  which,  to  our  shame,  are  re- 
peated in  every  country  in  Italian,  are  our  watchword.  But 
things  shall  be  different,  if  it  means  that  the  few  amongst 
us  who  have  a  little  share  of  head  and  heart  have  to  work 
themselves  to  death — things  shall  be  different.  Massimo 
d'Azeglio  said:  "Now  we  have  created  an  Italy;  there 
remains  to  create  Italians."  That  was  a  true  saying.  Now 
we  are  creating  the  new  people,  and  what  a  future  there  Is 
before  us!  Now  It  Is  we  who  are  taking  the  leadership  of 
the  Latin  race,  and  who  are  giving  back  to  our  history  Its 
brilliance  of  the  sixteenth  century.  At  present  our  Art  is 
poor  because  we  have  no  popular  type ;  but  wait  I     In  a  few 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Continued    373 

years  Italy  will  show  a  profile  no  less  full  of  character  than 
in  the  days  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  Benvenuto  Cellini." 

Ill 

Then  the  moment  arrived  when  all  abstract  reflections 
were  thrust  aside  once  more  by  convalescence.  I  was  well 
again,  after  having  been  shut  up  for  over  four  months.  I 
still  felt  the  traces  of  the  mercury  poisoning,  but  I  was  no 
longer  tied  to  my  bed,  and  weak  though  I  was,  I  could  walk. 

And  on  the  very  first  day, — it  was  March  25th — armed 
with  a  borrowed  stick  (I  possessed  none,  having  never  used 
a  stick  before),  and  equipped  with  a  little  camp-stool,  I  took 
the  train  to  Frascati,  where  there  was  a  Madonna  Fete. 

It  was  life  opening  out  before  me  again.  All  that  I 
saw,  witnessed  to  its  splendour.  First,  the  scenery  on  the 
way,  the  Campagna  with  its  proud  ruins,  and  the  snow-cov- 
ered Sabine  Mountains,  the  whole  illuminated  by  a  powerful 
Summer  sun;  the  villas  of  old  Romans,  with  fortress-like 
thick  walls,  and  small  windows;  then  the  fertile  lava  soil, 
every  inch  of  which  was  under  vineyard  cultivation.  At  last 
the  mountains  in  the  neighborhood  of  Frascati.  A  con- 
vent crowned  the  highest  point;  there,  in  olden  days,  the 
first  Italian  temple  to  Jupiter  had  stood,  and  there  Han- 
nibal had  camped.  Underneath,  in  a  hollow,  like  an  eagle's 
nest,  lay  Rocca  di  Papa.  By  the  roadside,  fruit-trees  with 
violet  clusters  of  blossoms  against  a  background  of  stone- 
pines,  cypresses,  and  olive-groves. 

I  reached  Frascati  station.  There  was  no  carnage 
to  be  had  up  to  the  town,  so  I  was  obliged  to  ascend  the 
hill  slowly  on  foot,  a  test  which  my  leg  stood  most  cred- 
itably. In  the  pretty  market-place  of  Frascati,  with  its  large 
fountain  which,  like  Acqua  Paola,  was  divided  into  three 
and  flung  out  a  tremendous  quantity  of  water,  I  went  into  an 
osteria  and  asked  for  roast  goat  with  salad  and  Frascati  wine, 
then  sat  down  outside,  as  it  was  too  close  within.  Hundreds 
of  people  in  gay  costumes,  with  artificial  flowers  and  silver 
feathers  in  their  headgear,  filled  the  square  In  front  of  me, 
crowded  the  space  behind  me,  laughed  and  shouted.  ^ 


374  REMINISCENCES 

The  people  seemed  to  be  of  a  grander  type,  more  lively, 
animated  and  exuberant,  than  at  the  fair  at  Fiesole.  The 
women  were  like  Junos  or  Venuses,  the  men,  even  when  clad 
in  abominable  rags,  looked  like  Vulcans,  blackened  in  their 
forges;  they  were  all  of  larger  proportions  than  Northern 
men  and  women.  A  Roman  beau,  with  a  riding-whip  under 
his  arm,  was  making  sheep's  eyes  at  a  young  local  beauty, 
his  courtship  accompanied  by  the  whines  of  the  surround- 
ing beggars.  A  signora  from  Albano  was  lecturing  the 
waiter  with  the  dignity  of  a  queen  for  having  brought  her 
meat  that  was  beneath  all  criticism,  yes,  she  even  let  the 
word  porcheria  escape  her.  A  brown-bearded  fellow  came 
out  of  the  inn  with  a  large  bottle  of  the  heavenly  FrascatI 
wine,  which  the  landlords  here,  even  on  festival  occasions, 
never  mix  with  water,  and  gave  a  whole  family,  sitting  on 
donkeys,  to  drink  out  of  one  glass;  then  he  went  to  two 
little  ones,  who  were  holding  each  other  round  the  waist, 
sitting  on  the  same  donkey;  to  two  youths  who  were  riding 
another;  to  a  man  and  v/ife,  who  sat  on  a  third,  and  all 
drank,  like  the  horsemen  in  Wouwerman's  pictures,  without 
dismounting. 

I  got  into  an  old,  local  omnibus,  pulled  by  three  horses, 
to  drive  the  two  miles  to  Grotta  Ferrata,  where  the 
fair  was.  But  the  vehicle  was  hardly  about  to  start  up-hill 
when,  with  rare  unanimity,  the  horses  reared,  behaved  like 
mad,  and  whirled  it  round  four  or  five  times.  The 
driver,  a  fellow  with  one  eye  and  a  grey  cap  with  a  double 
red  camelia  in  it,  being  drunk,  thrashed  the  horses  and 
shouted,  while  an  old  American  lady  with  ringlets  shrieked 
inside  the  omnibus,  and  bawled  out  that  she  had  paid  a 
franc  beforehand,  and  now  wanted  to  get  out.  The  road 
was  thronged  with  people  walking,  and  there  was  just  as 
many  riding  donkeys,  all  of  them,  even  the  children,  already 
heated  with  wine,  singing,  laughing,  and  accosting  every- 
body. Many  a  worthy  woman  supported  her  half-drunk 
husband  with  her  powerful  arm.  Many  a  substantial  sig- 
nora from  Rocca  di  Papa  sat  astride  her  mule,  showing  with- 
out the  least  bashfulness  her  majestic  calves. 

At  Grotta  Ferrata,  the  long,  long  street  presented  a  hu- 


SECOND   LONGER   STAY  ABROAD— Continued    375 

man  throng  of  absolute  density  without  the  slightest  crush, 
for  no  one  stuck  his  elbows  into  his  neighbour's  sides.  The 
eye  could  only  distinguish  a  mass  of  red,  yellow  and  white 
patches  in  the  sunlight,  and  in  between  them  a  few  donkeys' 
heads  and  mules'  necks.  The  patches  were  the  kerchiefs  on 
the  women's  heads.  'Folk  stood  with  whole  roast  pigs  in 
front  of  them  on  a  board,  cutting  off  a  piece  with  a  knife  for 
anyone  who  was  hungry;  there  were  sold,  besides,  fruits, 
knives,  ornaments,  provisions,  and  general  market  wares. 
One  ostciia,  the  entrance  to  which  was  hung  all  over  with 
sausages,  onions  and  vegetables,  in  garlands,  had  five  huge 
archways  open  to  the  street.  Inside  were  long  tables,  at 
which  people  sat,  not  on  benches,  but  on  trestles,  round  bars 
supported  by  two  legs,  and  ate  and  drank  in  the  best  of  good 
spirits,  and  the  blackest  filth,  for  the  floor  was  the  black, 
sodden,  trampled  earth.  Just  over  the  way,  arbours  had 
been  made  from  trees,  by  intertwining  their  branches  and 
allowing  them  to  grow  into  one  another;  these  were  quite 
full  of  gay,  beautiful  girls,  amongst  them  one  with  fair 
hair  and  brown  eyes,  w^ho  looked  like  a  Tuscan,  and  from 
whom  It  w^as  difficult  to  tear  one's  eyes  away. 

After  having  inspected  the  courtyard  of  an  old  monas- 
tery, the  lovely  pillars  of  which  rejoiced  my  heart,  I  sat  down 
a  little  on  one  side  in  the  street  where  the  fair  was,  on  my 
little  camp-stool,  which  roused  the  legitimate  curiosity  of  the 
peasant  girls.  They  walked  round  me,  looked  at  me  from 
behind  and  before,  and  examined  with  grave  interest  the 
construction  of  my  seat.  In  front  of  me  sat  an  olive  and 
lemon  seller.  Girls  bargained  with  him  as  best  they  could 
in  the  press,  others  stood  and  looked  on.  I  had  an 
opportunity  here  of  watching  their  innate  statuesque  grace. 
When  they  spoke,  the  right  arm  kept  time  with  their  speech. 
When  silent,  they  generally  placed  one  hand  on  the  hip,  bent, 
but  not  clenched.  There  were  various  types.  The  little 
blonde,  blue-eyed  girl  with  the  mild  Madonna  smile,  and  ab- 
solutely straight  nose,  and  the  large-made,  pronounced  bru- 
nette. But  the  appearance  of  them  all  was  such  that  an 
artist  or  a  poet  could,  by  a  slight  transformation,  have  por- 
trayed from  them  whatever  type  of  figure  or  special  charac- 


376  REMINISCENCES 

terlstic  he  required.  In  my  opinion,  the  form  Italian  beauty 
took,  and  the  reason  of  the  feeling  one  had  in  Italy  of  wading 
in  beauty,  whereas  one  hardly  ever  saw  anything  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  word  beautiful  in  Copenhagen,  and  rarely  in 
Paris,  was,  that  this  beauty  was  the  beauty  of  the  sig- 
nificant. All  these  women  looked  to  be  unoppressed,  full- 
blown, freely  developed.  All  that  makes  woman  ugly  in 
the  North :  the  cold,  the  thick,  ugly  clothes  that  the  peasant 
women  wear,  the  doublet  of  embarrassment  and  vapidity 
which  they  drag  about  with  them,  the  strait-waistcoat  of 
Christiansfeldt  morality  in  which  they  are  confined  by  the 
priests,  by  protestantism,  by  fashion,  by  custom  and  conven- 
tion— none  of  this  oppressed,  confined  or  contracted  women 
here.  These  young  peasant  girls  looked  as  if  they  had  never 
heard  such  words  as  "  You  must  not,"  or  "  You  shall  not," 
and  as  here  in  Italy  there  is  none  of  the  would-be  witty 
talk,  the  grinning  behind  people's  backs,  which  takes  the 
life  out  of  all  intrepidity  in  the  North,  no  one  thought: 
"  What  will  people  say?  "  Everyone  dressed  and  deported 
himself  with  complete  originality,  as  he,  or  rather  as  she, 
liked.  Hence  eyes  were  doubly  brilliant,  blood  coursed  twice 
as  red,  the  women's  busts  were  twice  as  rounded  and  full. 

IV 

From  this  time  forth  I  had  a  strange  experience.  I 
saw  beauty  everywhere.  If  I  sat  at  the  window  of  a  cafe 
on  the  Corso  on  a  Sunday  morning,  as  the  ladies  were  going 
to  Mass,  it  seemed  to  me  that  all  the  beauty  on  earth  was 
going  past.  A  mother  and  her  three  daughters  went  by, 
a  mere  grocer's  wife  from  the  Corso,  but  the  mother 
carried  herself  like  a  duchess,  had  a  foot  so  small  that 
it  could  have  lain  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand,  and  the 
youngest  of  the  three  daughters  was  so  absolutely  lovely 
that  people  turned  to  look  after  her;  she  might  perhaps 
have  been  fifteen  years  of  age,  but  there  was  a  nobility  about 
her  austere  profile,  and  she  had  a  way  of  twisting  her  perfect 
lips  into  a  smile,  that  showed  her  to  be  susceptible  to  the 
sweetest  mysteries  of  poetry  and  music.     My  long  illness  had 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Continued    m 

so  quickened  the  susceptibility  of  my  senses  to  impressions  of 
beauty  that  1  hved  in  a  sort  of  intoxication. 

In  the  Scandinavian  Club  I  was  received  with  endless 
expressions  of  sympathy,  courteous  remarks,  and  more  or 
less  sincerely  meant  flatteries,  as  if  in  compensation  for  the 
suffering  I  had  been  through.  All  spoke  as  though  they 
had  themselves  been  deeply  distressed,  and  especially  as 
though  Copenhagen  had  been  sitting  weeping  during  my  ill- 
ness. I  certainly  did  not  believe  this  for  a  moment,  but  all 
the  same  it  weighed  down  a  little  the  balance  of  my  happi- 
ness, and  the  first  meetings  with  the  Northern  artists  in  these 
glorious  surroundings  were  in  many  respects  very  enjoyable. 
The  Scandinavian  Club  was  in  the  building  from  which  you 
enter  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus,  a  colossal  building  in  the 
form  of  a  cross,  several  storeys  in  height.  A  festival  had 
been  got  up  on  the  flat  roof  for  a  benevolent  object  one  of 
the  first  evenings  in  April.  You  mounted  the  many  flights 
of  stairs  and  suddenly  found  yourself,  apparently,  in  an  im- 
mense hall,  but  with  no  roof  save  the  stars,  and  brilliantly 
illuminated,  but  with  lights  that  paled  in  the  rays  of  the  Ital- 
ian moon.  We  took  part  in  the  peculiarly  Italian  enjoy- 
ment of  watching  balloons  go  up;  they  rose  by  fire,  which 
exhausted  the  air  inside  them  and  made  them  light.  Round 
about  the  moon  we  could  see  red  and  blue  lights,  like  big 
stars;  one  balloon  Ignited  up  in  the  sky,  burst  into  bright 
flames,  and  looked  very  impressive. 

Troops  of  young  women,  too,  were  sitting  there,  and 
dazzled  anew  a  young  man  who  for  a  second  time  had  given 
the  slip  to  the  old  gentleman  with  the  scythe.  There  was 
one  young  servant  girl  from  the  country,  in  particular,  a 
child  of  thirteen  or  fourteen,  to  whom  I  called  the  atten- 
tion of  the  painters,  and  they  went  into  ecstasies  over  her. 
The  type  was  the  same  as  that  which  Raphael  has  repro- 
duced in  his  Sistine  Madonna.  Her  clear,  dark  blue  eyes 
had  a  look  of  maidenly  shyness,  and  of  the  most  exquisite 
bashfulness,  and  yet  a  look  of  pride.  She  wore  a  string 
of  glass  beads  round  her  lovely  neck.  We  ordered  two 
bottles  of  wine  to  drink  her  health,  and,  while  we  were 
drinking  It,  the  rotunda  was  lighted  up  from  a  dozen  direc- 


378  REMINISCENCES 

tions  with  changing  Bengal  fire.  The  ladies  looked  even 
handsomer,  the  glass  lamps  dark  green  in  the  gleam,  the  fire- 
borne  balloons  rose,  the  orchestra  played,  the  women  smiled 
at  the  homage  of  their  friends  and  lovers — all  on  the  vener- 
able Mausoleum  of  Augustus. 


I  made  the  acquaintance  that  evening  of  a  young  and 
exceedingly  engaging  Frenchman,  who  was  to  become  my  in- 
timate friend  and  my  travelling  companion.  He  attracted 
me  from  the  first  by  his  refined,  reserved,  and  yet  cordial 
manner. 

Although  only  thirty-five  years  of  age,  Georges  Nouf- 
flard  had  travelled  and  seen  surprisingly  much.  He  was 
now  in  Italy  for  the  second  time,  knew  France  and  Germany, 
had  travelled  through  Mexico  and  the  United  States,  had 
visited  Syria,  Egypt,  Tunis,  and  Algiers  to  the  last  oasis. 
When  the  conversation  touched  upon  Art  and  Music,  he  ex- 
pressed himself  in  a  manner  that  revealed  keen  perception, 
unusual  knowledge,  and  a  very  individual  taste. 

The  following  morning,  when  we  met  on  the  Corso,  he 
placed  himself  at  my  disposal,  if  he  could  be  of  use  to  me; 
there  was  nothing  he  had  arranged  to  do.  He  asked  where 
I  was  thinking  of  going;  as  he  knew  Rome  and  its  neigh- 
bourhood as  well  as  I  knew  my  mother's  drawing-room,  I 
placed  myself  in  his  hands.  We  took  a  carriage  and  drove 
together,  first  to  the  baths  of  Caracalla,  then  to  the  Cata- 
combs, where  we  very  nearly  lost  our  way,  and  thought  with 
a  thrill  of  what  in  olden  times  must  have  been  the  feelings 
of  the  poor  wretches  who  fled  there,  standing  in  the  dark 
and  hearing  footsteps  in  the  distance,  knowing  that  It  was 
their  pursuers  coming,  and  that  they  were  inevitably  going 
to  be  murdered,  where  there  was  not  even  room  to  raise 
a  weapon  in  their  own  defence.  Next  we  drove  to  San  Paolo 
fuori  le  mure,  of  the  burning  of  which  Thorwaldsen's  Mu- 
seum possesses  a  painting  by  Leopold  Robert,  but  which  at 
that  time  had  been  entirely  re-built  in  the  antique  style.  It 
was  the  most  beautiful  basilica  I  had  ever  seen.     We  en- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Com inucd    379 

joyed  the  sight  of  the  courtyard  of  the  monastery  nearly 
1,700  years  old,  with  its  line  pillars,  all  different,  and  so  well 
preserved  that  we  compared,  in  thought,  the  impressions  pro- 
duced by  the  two  mighty /hurches,  San  Paolo  and  San  Pie- 
tro.  Then  we  dined  together  and  plunged  into  interminable 
discussions  until  darkness  fell.  From  that  day  forth  we 
were  Inseparable.  Our  companionship  lasted  several  months, 
until  I  was  obliged  to  journey  North.  But  the  same  cordial 
relations  continued  to  subsist  between  us  for  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  when  Death  robbed  me  of  my  friend. 

Georges  Noufflard  was  the  son  of  a  rich  cloth  manu- 
facturer at  Roubaix,  and  at  an  early  age  had  come  into  pos- 
session of  a  considerable  fortune.  Thi^,  however,  was  some- 
what diminished  through  the  dishonesty  of  those  who,  after 
the  death  of  his  father,  conducted  the  works  in  his  name. 
He  had  wanted  to  become  a  painter,  but  the  weakness  of  his 
eyes  had  obliged  him  to  give  up  Art;  now  he  was  an  Art 
lover,  and  was  anxious  to  write  a  book  on  the  memorials 
and  wcrks  of  art  in  Rome,  too  great  an  undertaking,  and 
for  that  reason  never  completed;  but  at  the  same  time,  he 
pursued  with  passion  the  study  of  music,  played  Beethoven, 
Gluck  and  Berlioz  for  me  daily,  and  later  on  published  books 
on  Berlioz  and  Richard  Wagner. 

As  a  youth  he  had  been  an  enthusiast  such  as,  in  the 
Germanic  countries,  they  fancy  is  impossible  elsewhere,  to 
such  an  extent  indeed  as  would  be  regarded  even  there  as 
extraordinary.  At  seventeen  years  of  age  he  fell  in  love 
with  a  young  girl  who  lived  in  the  same  building  as  himself. 
He  was  only  on  terms  of  sign  language  with  her,  had  not 
even  secured  so  much  as  a  conversation  with  her.  None  the 
less,  his  infatuation  was  so  great  that  he  declared  to  his  fa- 
ther that  he  wished  to  marry  her.  The  father  would  not 
give  his  consent,  and  her  family  would  not  receive  him  un- 
less he  was  presented  by  his  father.  The  latter  sent  him  to 
America  with  the  words:  "  Forget  your  love  and  learn  what 
a  fine  thing  industrialism  is."  He  travelled  all  over  the 
UnitedStates,  found  all  machinery  loathsome,  since  he  had  not 
the  most  elementary  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  mechan- 
ics, and  no  inclination  for  them,  and  thought  all  the  time  of 


38o  REMINISCENCES 

the  little  girl  from  whom  they  wished  to  separate  him.  It  did 
not  help  matters  that  the  travelling  companion  that  had  been 
given  him  lived  and  breathed  in  an  atmosphere  of  the  low- 
est debauchery,  and  did  his  best  to  initiate  the  young  man 
Into  the  same  habits.  On  his  return  home  he  declared  to 
his  father  that  he  persisted  in  his  choice.  "  Good,"  said  his 
father,  "  Asia  Minor  Is  a  delightful  country,  and  so  Is  North- 
ern Africa;  It  will  also  do  you  good  to  become  acquainted  with 
Italy."  So  he  set  off  on  his  travels  again,  and  this  time  was 
charmed  with  everything  he  saw.  Then  his  father  died,  and 
he  became  pretty  much  his  own  master  and  free  to  do  as 
he  liked.  Then  he  learned  that  the  father  of  the  girl  had 
been  guilty  of  a  bank  fraud.  His  family  would  not  receive 
hers.  If,  Indeed,  herself.  So  he  gave  up  his  Intention;  he 
did  not  wish  to  expose  her  to  humiliation  and  did  not  wish 
himself  to  have  a  man  of  Ill-fame  for  his  father-in-law;  he 
set  off  again  on  his  travels,  and  remained  a  long  time  away. 
"  The  proof  that  I  acted  wisely  by  so  doing,"  he  said  In  con- 
clusion, "  is  that  I  have  completely  forgotten  the  girl;  my 
Infatuation  was  all  fancy." 

When  he  commenced  by  telling  me  that  for  three  years 
he  had  loved,  and  despite  all  opposition,  wished  to  marry  a 
girl  to  whom  he  had  never  spoken,  I  exclaimed:  "Why, 
you  are  no  Frenchman  !  "  When  he  concluded  by  telling  me 
that  after  remaining  constant  for  three  years  he  had  aban- 
doned her  for  a  fault  that  not  she,  but  her  father,  had  com- 
mitted, I  exclaimed:      "How  French  you  are,  after  all!" 

While  mutual  political,  social,  and  philosophical  inter- 
ests drew  me  to  Giuseppe  Saredo,  all  the  artistic  side  of  my 
nature  bound  me  to  Georges  NoufHard.  Saredo  was  an 
Italian  from  a  half-French  part, — he  was  born  at  Savona, 
near  Chambery, — and  his  culture  was  as  much  French  as 
Italian ;  Noufflard  was  a  Frenchman  possessed  by  such  a  love 
for  Italy  that  he  spoke  the  purest  Florentine,  felt  himself 
altogether  a  Southerner,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  take 
up  his  permanent  abode  In  Italy.  He  married,  too,  a  few 
years  afterwards,  a  lovely  Florentine  woman,  and  settled 
down  In  Florence. 

What  entirely  won  my  heart  about  him  was  the  fem- 


SECOND  LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Cotitinued    381 

ininely  delicate  consideration  and  unselfish  devotion  of 
his  nature,  the  charm  there  was  about  his  manner  and  con- 
versation, which  revealed  itself  in  everything  he  did,  from 
the  way  in  which  he  placed  his  hat  upon  his  head,  to 
the  way  in  which  he  admired  a  work  of  art.  But  I  could  not 
have  associated  with  him  day  after  day,  had  I  not  been  able 
to  learn  something  from  him.  When  we  met  again  ten  years 
later,  it  turned  out  that  we  had  nothing  especially  new  to  tell 
each  other.    I  had  met  him  just  at  the  right  moment. 

It  was  not  only  that  Noufflard  was  very  well  and  widely 
informed  about  the  artistic  treasures  of  Italy  and  the  places 
where  they  were  to  be  found,  but  his  opinions  enriched  my 
mind,  Inasmuch  as  they  spurred  me  on  to  contradiction  or 
surprised  me  and  won  my  adherence.  Fresh  as  Julius 
Lange's  artistic  sense  had  been,  there  was  nevertheless  some- 
thing doctrinaire  and  academic  about  It.  An  artist  like  Ber- 
nini was  horrible,  and  nothing  else  to  him;  he  had  no  sym- 
pathy for  the  sweet,  half-sensual  ecstasy  of  some  of  Bernini's 
best  figures.  He  was  an  enemy  of  eighteenth-century  art  In 
France,  saw  it  through  the  moral  spectacles  which  In  the 
Germanic  countries  had  come  into  use  with  the  year  1800. 
It  was  easy  for  Noufflard  to  remain  unbiased  by  Northern 
doctrines,  for  he  did  not  know  them ;  he  had  the  free  eye 
of  the  beauty  lover  for  every  revelation  of  beauty,  no 
matter  under  what  form,  and  had  the  intellectual  kinship 
of  the  Italianised  Frenchman  for  many  an  artist  unap- 
preciated in  the  North.  On  the  other  hand,  he  naturally 
considered  that  we  Northmen  very  much  over-estimated  our 
own.  It  was  Impossible  to  rouse  any  Interest  In  him  for 
Thorwaldsen,  whom  he  considered  absolutely  academic. 
"  You  cannot  call  him  a  master  In  any  sense,"  he  exclaimed 
one  day,  when  we  had  been  looking  at  Thorwaldsen  bas- 
reliefs  side  by  side  with  antiques.  I  learnt  from  my  Inti- 
macy with  Noufflard  how  little  Impression  Thorwaldsen's 
spirit  makes  on  the  Romance  peoples.  That  indliference  to 
him  would  soon  become  so  widespread  in  Germany,  I  did  not 
yet  foresee. 

^        Noufflard  had  a  very  alert  appreciation  of  the  early 
Renaissance,  especially  in  sculpture;  he  was  passionately  in 


382  REMINISCENCES 

love  with  the  natural  beauties  of  Italy,  from  North  to  South, 
and  he  had  a  kind  of  national-psychological  gift  of  singling 
out  pecuHarly  French,  Italian  or  German  traits.  He  did  not 
know  the  German  language,  but  he  was  at  home  in  German 
music,  and  had  studied  a  great  deal  of  German  literature  in 
translation;  just  then  he  was  reading  Hegel's  "  iF.sthetics," 
the  abstractions  in  which  veritably  alarmed  him,  and  to  which 
he  very  much  preferred  modern  French  Art  Philosophy,  In 
English  Science,  he  had  studied  Darwin,  and  he  was  the  first 
to  give  me  a  real  insight  into  the  Darwinian  theory  and  a 
general  summary  of  it,  for  in  my  younger  days  I  had  only 
heard  It  attacked,  as  erroneous,  in  lectures  by  Rasmus  Niel- 
sen on  teleology. 

Georges  Noufflard  was  the  first  Frenchman  of  my  own 
age  with  whom  I  had  been  Intimate  and  whose  character  I 
partly  understood  and  entered  into,  partly  absorbed  Into  my 
own.  If  many  of  the  various  opinions  evident  In  my  first 
lectures  were  strikingly  emancipated  from  Danish  national 
prejudices  which  no  one  hitherto  had  attempted  to  disturb, 
I  owed  this  in  a  great  measure  to  him.  Our  happy,  harmo- 
nious intimacy  In  the  Sabine  Hills  and  in  Naples  was  respon- 
sible, before  a  year  was  past,  for  whole  deluges  of  abuse 
in  Danish  newspapers. 

VI 

One  morning,  the  Consul's  man-servant  brought  me  a 
permesso  for  the  Collection  of  Sculpture  in  the  Vatican  for  the 
same  day,  and  a  future  permesso  for  the  Loggias,  Stanzas, 
and  the  SIstine  Chapel.  I  laid  the  last  In  my  pocket-book. 
It  was  the  key  of  Paradise.  I  had  waited  for  it  so  long  that 
I  said  to  myself  almost  superstitlously :  "  I  wonder  whether 
anything  will  prevent  again?"  The  anniversary  of  the 
day  I  had  left  Copenhagen  the  year  before,  I  drove  to  the 
Vatican,  went  at  one  o'clock  mid-day  up  the  handsome  stair- 
case, and  through  Immense,  in  part  magnificently  decorated 
rooms  to  the  SIstine  Chapel.  I  had  heard  so  much  about 
the  disappointment  it  would  be  that  not  the  very  slightest 
suggestion  of  disappointment  crossed  my  mind.    Only  a  feel- 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Continued    383 

ing  of  supreme  happiness  shot  through  me :  at  last  I  am  here. 
I  stood  on  the  spot  which  was  the  real  goal  of  my  pilgrim- 
age. I  had  so  often  examined  reproductions  of  every  figure 
and  I  had  read  so  much  about  the  whole,  that  I  knew  every 
note  of  the  music  beforehand.     Now  1  heard  it. 

A  voice  within  me  whispered:  So  here  I  stand  at  last, 
shut  in  with  the  mind  that  of  all  human  minds  has  spoken 
most  deeply  home  to  my  soul,  I  am  outside  and  above  the 
earth  and  far  from  human  kind.  This  is  his  earth  and  these 
are  his  men,  created  in  his  image  to  people  his  world.  For 
this  one  man's  work  is  a  world,  which,  though  that  of  one 
man  only,  can  be  placed  against  the  productions  of  a  whole 
nation,  even  of  the  most  splendid  nation  that  has  ever  lived, 
the  Greeks.  Michael  Angelo  felt  more  largely,  more  lonely, 
more  mightily  than  any  other.  He  created  out  of  the  wealth 
of  a  nature  that  in  its  essence  was  more  than  earthly. 
Raphael  is  more  human,  people  say,  and  that  is  true;  but 
Michael  Angelo  is  more  divine. 

After  the  lapse  of  about  an  hour,  the  figures  detached 
themselves  from  the  throng,  to  my  mental  vision,  and  the 
whole  composition  fixed  itself  in  my  brain.  I  saw  the  ceil- 
ing, not  merely  as  it  is  to-day,  but  as  it  was  when  the  colours 
were  fresh,  for  in  places  there  were  patches,  the  bright  yel- 
low, for  instance,  which  showed  the  depth  of  colouring  in 
which  the  whole  had  been  carried  out.  It  was  Michael 
Angelo's  intention  to  show  us  the  ceiling  pierced  and  the 
heavens  open  above  it.  Up  to  the  central  figures,  we  are 
to  suppose  that  the  walls  continue  straight  up  to  the  ceiling, 
as  though  the  figures  sat  upright.  Then  all  confusion  dis- 
appears, and  all  becomes  one  perfect  whole. 

The  principal  pictures,  such  as  the  creation  of  Adam, 
Michael  Angelo's  most  philosophical  and  most  exquisite 
painting,  I  had  had  before  my  eyes  upon  my  wall  every  day 
for  ten  years.  The  expression  in  Adam's  face  was  not  one 
of  languishing  appeal,  as  I  had  thought;  he  smiled  faintly, 
as  if  calmly  confident  of  the  dignity  of  the  life  the  finger 
of  God  is  about  to  bestow  upon  him.  The  small,  bronze- 
painted  figures,  expressed  the  suspension  and  repose  of  the 
ceiling;   they  were   architectonic   symbols.     The   troops   of 


384  REMINISCENCES 

young  heroes  round  about  the  central  pillars  were  Michael 
Angelo's  Ideals  of  Youth,  Beauty  and  Humanity.  The  one 
resting  silently  and  thoughtfully  on  one  knee  is  perhaps  the 
most  splendid.  There  is  hardly  any  difference  between  his 
build  and  that  of  Adam.  Adam  Is  the  more  spiritual  brother 
of  these  young  and  suffering  heroes. 

I  felt  the  injustice  of  all  the  talk  about  the  beginnings 
of  grotesqueness  in  Michael  Angelo's  style.  There  are  a 
few  somewhat  distorted  figures,  Haman,  the  knot  of  men 
and  women  adoring  the  snake,  Jonas,  as  he  flings  himself 
backwards,  but  except  these,  what  calm,  what  grandiose  per- 
fection !  And  which  was  still  more  remarkable,  what  Im- 
posing charm  I  Eve,  in  the  picture  of  "  The  Fall,"  Is  per- 
haps the  most  adorable  figure  that  Art  has  ever  produced; 
her  beauty.  In  the  picture  on  the  left,  was  like  a  revelation 
of  what  humanity  really  ought  to  have  been. 

It  sounded  almost  like  a  lie  that  one  man  had  created 
this  In  twenty-two  months.  Would  the  earth  ever  again 
produce  frescoes  of  the  same  order?  The  360  years  that 
had  passed  over  It  had  damaged  this,  the  greatest  pictorial 
work  on  earth,  far  less  than  I  had  feared. 

A  large  aristocratic  English  family  came  in:  man,  wife, 
son,  daughter,  another  daughter,  the  governess,  all  expen- 
sively and  fashionably  dressed.  They  stood  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment at  the  entrance  to  the  hall.  Then  they  came  forward 
as  far  as  about  the  middle  of  the  hall,  looked  up  and  about 
a  little,  said  to  the  custodian:  "Will  you  open  the  door 
for  us?  "  and  went  out  again  very  gracefully. 

VII 

I  knew  Raphael's  Loggias  from  copies  In  I'Ecole  des 
Beaux  Arts  In  Paris.  But  I  was  curious  to  see  how  they 
would  appear  after  this,  and  so,  although  there  was  only 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  left  of  the  time  allotted  to  me  on 
my  permesso,  I  went  up  to  look  at  them.  My  first  Im- 
pression, as  I  glanced  down  the  corridor  and  perceived  these 
small  ceiling  pictures,  barely  two  feet  across,  was:  "Goo;i 
gracious  1     This  will  be  a  sorry  enjoyment  after  Michael 


SECOND   LONGER   STAY  ABROAD— Continued    385 

Angelo!  "  I  looked  at  the  first  painting,  God  creating  the 
animals,  and  was  quite  affected:  "  There  goes  the  good  old 
man,  saying  paternally:  "  Come  up  from  the  earth,  all  of 
you,  you  have  no  idea  how  nice  it  is  up  here."  My  next  im- 
pression was:  "  How  childish!  "  But  my  last  was:  "What 
genius!"  How  charming  the  picture  of  the  Fall,  and 
how  lovely  Eve !  And  what  grandeur  of  style  despite  the 
smallness  of  the  space.  A  God  a  few  inches  high  separates 
light  from  darkness,  but  there  is  omnipotence  in  the  move- 
ment of  His  arm.  Jacob  sees  the  ladder  to  Heaven  in  his 
dream;  and  this  ladder,  which  altogether  has  six  angels  upon 
it,  seems  to  reach  from  Earth  to  Heaven,  infinitely  long  and 
infinitely  peopled;  above,  we  see  God  the  Father,  at  an  im- 
mense distance,  spread  His  gigantic  embrace  (which  covers 
a  space  the  length  of  two  fingers) .  There  was  the  favourite 
picture  of  my  childhood,  Abraham  prostrated  before  the 
Angels,  even  more  marvellous  in  the  original  than  I  had  fan- 
cied it  to  myself,  although  it  is  true  that  the  effect  of  the  pic- 
ture is  chiefly  produced  by  its  beauty  of  line.  And  there 
was  Lot,  departing  from  Sodom  with  his  daughters,  a  pic- 
ture great  because  of  the  perfect  illusion  of  movement.  They 
go  on  and  on,  against  the  wind  and  storm,  with  Horror  be- 
hind them  and  Hope  in  front,  at  the  back,  to  the  right, 
the  burning  city,  to  the  left,  a  smiling  landscape.  How 
unique  the  landscapes  on  all  these  pictures  are,  how  marvel- 
lous, for  instance,  that  in  which  Moses  is  found  on  the  Nile! 
This  river,  within  the  narrow  limits  of  the  picture,  looked 
like  a  huge  stream,  losing  itself  in  the  distance. 

It  was  half-past  five.  My  back  was  beginning  to  ache 
in  the  place  which  had  grown  tender  from  lying  so  long; 
without  a  trace  of  fatigue  I  had  been  looking  uninterrupt'^dly 
at  pictures  for  four  hours  and  a  half. 

VIII 

Noufflard's  best  friend  in  Rome  was  a  young  lieutenant 
of  the  Bcrsaglieri  named  Ottavio  Cerrotti,  with  whom  we 
were  much  together.  Although  a  Roman,  he  had  entered 
the  Italian  army  very  young,  and  had  consequently  been,  as 


386  REMINISCENCES 

it  were,  banished.  Now,  through  the  breach  at  Porta  Pia, 
he  had  come  back.  He  was  twenty-four  years  of  age,  and 
the  naivest  Don  Juan  one  could  possibly  meet.  He  was  be- 
loved by  the  beautiful  wife  of  his  captain,  and  Noufflard, 
who  frequented  their  house,  one  day  surprised  the  two  lovers 
in  tears.  Cerrotti  was  crying  with  his  lady-love  because  he 
had  been  faithless  to  her.  He  had  confessed  to  her  his  in- 
timacy with  four  other  young  ladies ;  so  she  was  crying,  and 
the  end  of  it  was  that  he  cried  to  keep  her  company. 

At  meals,  he  gave  us  a  full  account  of  his  principal  ro- 
mance. He  had  one  day  met  her  by  chance  in  the  gardens 
of  the  Palazzo  Corsini,  and  since  that  day,  they  had  had 
secret  meetings.  But  the  captain  had  now  been  transferred 
to  Terni,  and  tragedy  had  begun.  Letters  were  constantly 
within  an  ace  of  being  intercepted,  they  committed  impru- 
dences without  count.  He  read  aloud  to  us,  without  the 
least  embarrassment,  the  letters  of  the  lady.  The  curious 
thing  about  them  was  the  moderation  she  exercised  in  the 
expression  of  her  love,  while  at  the  same  time  her  plans  for 
meetings  were  of  the  most  foolhardy,  breakneck  description. 

Another  fresh  acquaintance  that  I  made  in  those  days 
was  with  three  French  painters,  Hammon,  Sain  and  Benner, 
who  had  studios  adjoining  one  another.  Hammon  and  Sain 
both  died  long  since,  but  Benner,  whom  I  met  again  in  Paris 
in  1904,  died,  honoured  and  respected,  in  1905.  I  was 
later  on  at  Capri  in  company  with  Sain  and  Benner,  but  Ham- 
mon I  saw  only  during  this  visit  to  Rome.  His  pretty,  some- 
what sentimental  painting.  Ma  sceiir  n'y  est  pas,  hung,  re- 
produced in  engraving,  in  every  shop-window,  even  in  Copen- 
hagen. He  was  painting  just  then  at  his  clever  picture, 
Triste  Rivage. 

Hammon  was  born  in  Brittany,  of  humble,  orthodox 
parents,  who  sent  him  to  a  monastery.  The  Prior,  when 
he  surprised  him  drawing  men  and  women  out  of  his  head, 
told  him  that  painting  was  a  sin.  The  young  man  himself 
then  strongly  repented  his  inclination,  but,  as  he  felt  he  could 
not  live  without  following  it,  he  left  the  monastery,  though 
with  many  strong  twinges  of  conscience. 

Now  that  he  was  older,   he  was  ruining  himself  by 


SECOND   LONGER   STAY  ABROArf— Continued    387 

drink,  but  had  manifested  true  talent  and  still  retained  a  hu- 
morous wit.  One  day  that  I  was  with  him,  a  young  man 
came  to  the  studio  and  asked  for  his  opinion  of  a  painting; 
the  man  talked  the  whole  time  of  nothing  but  his  mother, 
of  how  much  he  loved  her  and  all  that  he  did  for  her.  Ham- 
mon's  patience  gave  out  at  last.  He  broke  out:  "And 
do  you  think,  sir,  that  /  have  murdered  my  mother?  I  love 
her  very  much,  I  assure  you,  ttot  enough  to  marry  her,  T 
grant,  but  pretty  well,  all  the  same."  After  that  he  always 
spoke  of  him  as  "  the  young  man  who  loves  his  mother." 

IX 

I  felt  as  though  this  April,  this  radiant  Spring,  were 
the  most  glorious  time  in  my  life.  I  was  assimilating  fresh 
impressions  of  Art  and  Nature  every  hour;  the  conversations 
I  was  enjoying  with  my  Italian  and  French  friends  set  me 
day  by  day  pondering  over  new  thoughts;  I  saw  myself  re- 
stored to  life,  and  a  better  life.  At  the  beginning  of  April, 
moreover,  some  girls  from  the  North  made  their  triumphal 
entry  into  the  Scandinavian  Club.  Without  being  specially 
beautiful  or  remarkable,  they  absolutely  charmed  me.  It 
was  a  full  year  since  the  language  of  home  had  sq^anded 
in  my  ears  from  the  lips  of  a  girl,  since  I  had  seen  the  smile 
in  the  blue  eyes  and  encountered  the  heart-ensnaring  charm, 
in  jest,  or  earnest,  of  the  young  women  of  the  North.  I  had 
recently  heard  the  entrancing  castrato  singing  at  St.  Peter's, 
and,  on  conquering  my  aversion,  could  not  but  admire  it. 
Now  I  heard  once  more  simple,  but  natural,  Danish  and 
Swedish  songs.  Merely  to  speak  Danish  again  with  a  young 
woman,  was  a  delight.  And  there  was  one  who,  delicately 
and  unmistakably  and  defencelessly,  showed  me  that  I  was 
not  indifferent  to  her.  That  melted  me,  and  from  that  time 
forth  the  beauties  of  Italy  were  enhanced  tenfold  in  my  eyes. 

All  that  I  was  acquainted  with  in  Rome,  all  that  I  saw 
every  day  with  Georges  Noufflard,  I  could  show  her  and  her 
party,  from  the  most  accessible  things,  which  were  neverthe- 
less fresh  to  the  newcomers,  such  as  the  Pantheon,  Acqua 
Paola,  San  Pletro  in  Montorio,  the  grave  of  Cecilia  Metella, 


388  REMINISCENCES 

and  the  grottoes  of  Egeria,  to  the  great  collections  of  Art 
in  the  Vatican,  or  the  Capitol,  or  in  the  wonderful  Galleria 
Borghese.  AH  this,  that  I  was  accustomed  to  see  alone  with 
Noufflard,  acquired  new  splendour  when  a  blonde  girl  walked 
by  my  side,  asking  sensible  questions,  and  showing  me  the 
gratitude  of  youth  for  good  instruction.  With  her  nineteen 
years  I  suppose  she  thought  me  marvellously  clever.  But 
the  works  of  Art  that  lay  a  little  outside  the  beaten  track,  I 
likewise  showed  to  my  compatriots.  I  had  never  been  able 
to  tolerate  Guido  Reni;  but  his  playing  angels  in  the  chapel 
of  San  Gregorio  excited  my  profound  admiration,  and  it  was 
a  satisfaction  to  me  to  pour  this  into  the  receptive  ear  of  a 
girl  compatriot.  These  angels  delighted  me  so  that  I  could 
hardly  tear  myself  away  from  them.  The  fine  malice,  the 
mild  coquetry,  even  in  the  expression  of  the  noblest  purity 
and  the  loftiest  dignity,  enchanted  us. 

I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  out  to  the  environs  of 
Rome  with  Georges  Noufflard,  for  instance,  to  the  large, 
handsome  gardens  of  the  Villa  Doria  Pamfili,  or  the  Villa 
Madama,  with  its  beautiful  frescoes  and  stucco-work,  ex- 
ecuted by  Raphael's  pupils,  Giulio  Romano  and  others,  from 
drawings  by  that  master.  But  it  was  a  new  delight  to  drive 
over  the  Campagna  with  a  girl  who  spoke  Danish  by  my 
side,  and  to  see  her  Northern  complexion  in  the  sun  of  the 
South.  With  my  French  friend,  I  gladly  joined  the  excur- 
sions of  her  party  to  Nemi,  Albano,  Tivoli. 

Never  in  my  life  had  I  felt  so  happy  as  I  did  then.  I 
was  quite  recovered.  Only  a  fortnight  after  I  had  risen 
from  a  sick-bed  that  had  claimed  me  four  months  and  a  half, 
I  was  going  about,  thanks  to  my  youth,  as  I  did  before  I  was 
ill.  For  my  excursions,  I  had  a  comrade  after  my  own 
heart,  w^ell-bred,  educated,  and  noble-minded;  I  fell  in  love 
a  little  a  few  times  a  week;  I  saw  lakes,  fields,  olive  groves, 
mountains,  scenery,  exactly  to  my  taste.  I  had  always  a 
perviesso  for  the  Vatican  collections  in  my  pocket.  I  felt 
intoxicated  with  delight,  dizzy  with  enjoyment. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  of  all  I  had  seen  in  the  world, 
Tivoli  w^as  the  most  lovely.  The  old  "  temple  of  the  Sibyl  " 
on  the  hill  stood  on  consecrated  ground,  and  consecrated  the 


SECOND   LONGER  STAY  ABROAD— Continued    389 

whole  neighbourhood.  I  loved  those  waterfalls,  which  im- 
pressed me  much  more  than  Trollhattan^  had  done  in  my 
childhood.  In  one  place  the  water  falls  down,  black  and 
boiling,  into  a  hollow  of  the  rock,  and  reminded  me  of  the 
descent  into  Tartarus;  in  another  the  cataract  runs,  smiling 
and  twinkling  with  millions  of  shining  pearls,  in  the  strong 
sunlight.  In  a  third  place,  the  great  cascade  rushes  down 
over  the  rocks.  There,  where  it  touches  the  nether  rocks, 
rests  the  end  of  the  enormous  rainbow  which,  when  the  sun 
shines,  is  always  suspended  across  it.  Noufflard  told  me 
that  Niagara  itself  impressed  one  less.  We  scrambled  along 
the  cliff  until  we  stood  above  the  great  waterfall,  and  could 
see  nothing  but  the  roaring,  foaming  white  water,  leaping 
and  dashing  down;  it  looked  as  though  the  seething  and 
spraying  masses  of  water  were  springing  over  each  other's 
heads  in  a  mad  race,  and  there  was  such  power,  such  natural 
persuasion  in  it,  that  one  seemed  drawn  with  it,  and  gliding, 
as  it  were,  dragged  into  the  abyss.  It  was  as  though  all 
Nature  were  disembodied,  and  flinging  herself  down. 

Like  a  Latin,  Noufilard  personified  it  all;  he  saw  the 
dance  of  nymphs  in  the  waves,  and  their  veils  in  the  clouds 
of  spray.  My  way  of  regarding  Nature  was  diametrically 
opposite,  and  pantheistic.  I  lost  consciousness  of  my  own 
personality,  felt  myself  one  with  the  falling  water  and 
merged  myself  into  Nature,  instead  of  gathering  it  up  into 
figures.  I  felt  myself  an  individuality  of  the  North,  con- 
scious of  my  being. 


One  afternoon  a  large  party  of  us  had  taken  our  meal 
at  an  inn  on  the  lake  of  Nemi.  The  evening  was  more  than 
earthly.  The  calm,  still,  mountain  lake,  the  old,  filled-up 
crater,  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  had  a  fairy-like  effect. 
I  dropped  down  behind  a  boulder  and  lay  for  a  long  time 
alone,  lost  in  ecstasy,  out  of  sight  of  the  others.  All  at  once 
I  saw  a  blue  veil  fluttering  In  the  breeze  quite  near  me.      It 

^Trollhattan,  a  celebrated  waterfall  near  Goteborg  in  Sweden. 


390  REMINISCENCES 

was  the  young  Danish  girl,  who  had  sat  down  with  me. 
The  red  light  of  the  evening,  Nemi  and  she,  merged  in  one. 
Not  far  away  some  people  were  setting  fire  to  a  blaze  of 
twigs  and  leaves;  one  solitary  bird  warbled  across  the  lake; 
the  cypresses  wept;  the  pines  glowered;  the  olive  trees 
bathed  their  foliage  in  the  mild  warmth;  one  cloud  sailed 
across  the  sky,  and  its  reflection  glided  over  the  lake.  One 
could  not  bear  to  raise  the  voice. 

It  was  like  a  muffled,  muffled  concert.  Here  were  life, 
reality  and  dreams.  Here  were  sun,  warmth  and  light. 
Here  were  colour,  form  and  line,  and  in  this  line,  outlined 
by  the  mountains  against  the  sky,  the  artistic  background 
of  all  the  beauty. 

Noufflard  and  I  accompanied  our  Northern  friends 
from  Albano  to  the  station;  they  were  going  on  as 
far  as  Naples,  and  thence  returning  home.  We  said  good-bye 
and  walked  back  to  Albano  in  the  mild  Summer  evening. 
The  stars  sparkled  and  shone  bright,  Cassiopeia  showed  it- 
self in  its  most  favourable  position,  and  Charles's  Wain 
stood,  as  if  in  sheer  high  spirits,  on  its  head,  which  seemed 
to  be  its  recreation  just  about  this  time. 

It,  too,  was  evidently  a  little  dazed  this  unique,  In- 
imitable Spring, 


I  N  D  EX 


Aagesen,  Professor,  96. 
Aarestrup,   Emil,   154. 
About,   Edraond,  291. 
Adam,  25. 
Adam  Homo,  257. 

Adventures  on  a   JValking  Tour,  20. 
^neid,  The,  52. 
^schylus,   61,  98. 
Agar,  Mile.,  289. 
Aladdin,  257. 
Alcibiades,  151. 

Algreen-Ussing,   Frederik,  97,    153. 
Algreen-Ussing,  Otto,  97. 
All  and  Gulhyndi,  257. 
Alibert,  Mr.,  3. 
Andersen,  H.  C,  228. 
Angelo,  254. 

Angelo,   Michael,   273,  274,   383,   384. 
Antony,    254. 
Apel,  149. 
Aristotle,  98,   115. 
Arne,  87,  258. 
Arrest,  Professor  d',  70. 
Art,  Danish,  251;   French,  168;   Ger- 
man  dramatic,   236. 
Astronomy,  70. 

Auerbach,  Berthold,   197,  258. 
Augier,  238,  255,  256,   313. 
Augustenborg,   Duke   of,   140. 

Baagoe,    90. 
Baggesen,  32,  60,  61. 
Bain,  276. 
Banville,  252. 
Barbier,  Augusta,  265. 
Bazaine,  296. 
Beaumarchais,  167. 


Bech,  Carl,  274. 

Bendix,  Victor,   149. 

Benner,  386. 

Bentham,  256. 

Bergen,  Carl  von,   123. 

Bergh,  Rudolp,  20i. 

Bergsoe,   258. 

Bernhardt,  Sarah,  253. 

Bible,  The,  61. 

Bille,  IIS,  i57i  330,  33i- 

Bismarck,  265,  294. 

Bissen,  Wilhelm,   113. 

Bjornson,  87,  129,  131,  158,  199,  220, 

222,  223,  225,  226,  227,  228,  257, 

258,  304. 
Blanchetti,   Costanza,  310,  326. 
Blicher,  257. 

Bluhme,  Geheimeraad,  84. 
Borup,  91,  92. 
Bov,   16. 

Boy,  A  Happy,  223. 
Brand,   157. 
Bretteville,  161. 
Brochner,   H.,  98,   100,   109,  114,   n6, 

120,  135,  136,  141,  142,  143,  146, 

155,  156,  214,  219,  258,  277. 
Brohan,  The  Sisters,  167. 
Brussels,    165. 
Bruun,   Emil,    158. 
Buck  der  Lieder,  61,  62. 
Bur  graves,  Les,  254. 
Byron,  76. 

Caesar,   98. 
Caprice,   Un,  255. 
Caro,   176. 
Casellini,  262. 


391 


392 


INDEX 


Catullus,  98. 

Cerrotti,   Ottavio,   385,   386. 

Chamounix,  304,  305,  306. 

Chanson  de  Roland,  254. 

Chaslcs,  Emile,  265. 

Chasles,  Philar^te,  247,  248,  249,  256, 

263,  264,  294,  295. 
Chatterton,   254. 
Choteau,  Marie,   166. 
Christian  VIII.,  7. 
Christian   IX.,   138,   139. 
Christianity,   106,   107. 
Cinq-Mars,  257. 
Claretie,  Jules,  259. 
Clausen,   122,   136. 
Cologne,    165. 
Comte,  256,  275. 
Copenhagen,  16,  29,  30,  38,  234. 
Coppee,  256. 
Coquelin,  167,  252. 
Corday,    Charlotte,    168. 
Correggio,    311,    312. 
Cousin,  255,  257. 

Criticisms  and  Portraits,  195,  231. 
Crone,   139. 

Dame  aux  Camelias,  La,  310. 

Danish    Literature,    257. 

Dante,  143. 

Darwin,  382. 

David,   C.  N.,   80,   82,   140,   159,   160, 

161. 
David,    Ludvig,    81,    82,    84,    86,    97, 

158. 
Delacroix,    257. 
Delisle,  256. 
Devil,   The,   18. 
Dichtung  und   IVahrheit,  96. 
Disraeli,  286. 
Divina  Commedia,   143. 
Don  Juan,  76. 
Don   Quixote,  36,   106. 
Dorr,  Dr.,  35. 
Drachmann,   236. 
Drama,    German,    236. 


Driebein,  60. 

Dualism  in  Our  Modern   Philosophy, 

164. 
Dubbels,    113. 
Dubois,  Mile.,  251. 
Dumas,  254. 
Dumas,  The  Younger,  256. 

Eckernforde,   16. 
Edda,   The,    98,    257. 
Edward,   Uncle,   17. 
Either-Or,   257. 
Esselbach,  Madam,  90. 
Ethica,  loi. 
Euripides,    98. 

Falkman,  91,  92,  220. 

Farum,  34. 

Faust,  76. 

Favart,   Madame,   167,  252. 

Favre,  Jules,  264. 

Feuerbach,  Ludwig,  116. 

Feuillet,  Octave,  255,  257. 

Fights,   Betiveen   the,   223. 

Filomena,  337,  342,  343,  344,  345,  346, 
347,  350,  351,  352,  353,  354,  356, 
357,  358.  359,  360,  361,  362,  363, 
364,  365,  366,  367,  368. 

Fits  de  Giboyer,  Le,  238,  313. 

Fisher  Girl,  The,  199. 

Flaubert,  256. 

Florence,   312,    313,   314. 

Fontane,   M.,  28. 

For  Self -Examination,  108. 

For  Siueden  and  Nor^vay,  83. 

Fourier,   254. 

France  Nouvelle,  La,  285. 

Frascati,   373,   374,  375. 

Frederik    VII.,   138. 

French  Literature,  253,  254,  255,  256. 

French  Philosophers  of  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,  The,  176. 

French   Revolution,    163. 

Frithiof's  Saga,   5,  27. 

Frossard,  290. 


INDEX 


393 


Gabrielle,  255. 

Gallenga,  Antonio,  280,  281,  282. 

Gambetta,  293. 

Gautier,  256,  257,  267. 

Geneva,  302. 

Gerhard,  30,  31. 

Germany,  195. 

Gerome,  256. 

Gernsalemme  liherata,  Tasso's,  31. 

Ghost  Letters,  61. 

Ghosts,  91. 

Girardin,  167,  250. 

Gladstone,  286. 

Gleyre,  243,  244. 

God,  6. 

Gods  of  the  North,  The,  257. 

Goethe,  61,  96,  242,  361. 

Goldschmidt,  Dr.,  263,  264. 

Goldschmidt,  M.,  211,  212,  213,  214, 

215,  2i6,  217,  218,  219,  223,  224, 

267. 
Goncourt,  the  brothers,  256;   Edmond 

de,  269. 
Government,  Representative,  371. 
Gram,  Professor,  96. 
Grammont,  The  Due  de,  272. 
Gregoire,  170. 
Gringoire,  252. 
Gronbeck,  87,  126. 
Groth,  Clans,  258. 
Grundtvig,  60,  257, 
Guell  y  Rente,  Don  Jose,  263. 
Guemain,  Mademoiselle,  296,  297. 
Guizot,  249. 

Hage,  Alfred,   129. 

Hagemeister,  Mr.,  145. 

Hakon,  Earl,  257. 

Hall,  138. 

Hamburg,  233,  234,  235,  236,  237. 

Hamilton's    Philosophy,    Examination 

of.  371- 
Hamlet,  314. 
Hammerich,  90. 
Hammon,  386. 
Hansen,  Octavius,  135. 


Hauch,  120,   136,   146,  223,  257,   304; 

Rinna,  204. 
Hebbel,  236. 
Hegel,  98,  99,  100,  loi,  n8,  134,  142, 

164,  196,  229,  276. 
Heiberg,    Johan    Ludvig,    60,    81,    82, 

85,   98,    106,    118,    119,    129,    142, 

149,  257,  258. 
Heiberg,  Johanne  Louise,   170,    198. 
Heine,  61,  62,  76,  242. 
Hello,  Ernest,  238,  239,  240,  241. 
Henrietta,  35. 
Herbart,  142,  256. 
Hernani,  250. 
Hero  of  Our  Time,  A,  57. 
Hertz,  Henrik,  61,  351. 
History,  The  Philosophy  of,  229,  230. 
History    of    English    Literature,    176, 

213. 
Hobbema,  113. 
Hohlenberg,  Pastor,  220. 
Holberg,  8i. 

Hoist,  Professor  H.  P.,  42. 
Homer,  61. 
Hoppe,  Mr.,  26. 
Horace,  51,  98. 
Hoyen,  54. 
Hugo,  Victor,  163,  254,  256,  257,  264, 

265. 
Hume,  276. 
Huysmann,  238,  241. 
Hvasser,  160. 

Ibsen,  91,  131,  153,  157,  222,  258,  331. 

Indiana,  254. 

Ingeborg,  36. 

Ingemann,  23,  60,  257. 

Inger,  8. 

Inheritance,  The,  217. 

Intelligence,  De  I',  241. 

Jacob,  Uncle,  5,  27,  43. 
Jacques,  254. 
Jamber,  265. 
Janet,  176. 


394 


INDEX 


Jena,  13. 

Je8U8,    lOI. 

Jesus,  Life  of,  152. 
Jews,  18,  52,  212. 
Joie  fait  Peur,  La,  250. 
Judaism,  52. 
Judith,  236. 
Julius,  Uncle,  27. 
Jutland,  151. 

Kaalund,  58. 

Kant,  117,  196,  276. 

Kappers,  77,  78,  79,  80,  97. 

Karoline,  12,  18. 

Key,  Ellen,  124. 

Kierkegaard,  Soren,   59,  82,   105,   107, 

118,  131,   134,  135,  206,  214,  220, 
257. 

King  Svorre,  129. 
Krieger,  129. 
Klareboderne,  17. 
Kleist,  Heinrich,  231. 
Knowledge  and  Faith,  On,  199. 

Lafontaine,  Mr.,  29. 

Lamartine,  361. 

Lange,  Julius,  87,  89,  94,  98,  105,  112, 

119,  127,  137,  141,  144,  156,  202, 
275,  306. 

Laocoon,  96. 

Last  Supper,  Leonardo's,  311. 

Lavaggi,  310. 

Law,  96,  97. 

Lav},  Interpretation  of  the,  97. 

Leconte,  256. 

Lehmann,    Orla,    140,    206,    207,    208, 

209,   210,   211. 

Leman,  Lake,  306. 

Leonardo,  311. 

Leopold  of  Hohenzollern,  283. 

Lermontof,  56,  76. 

Lessing,  96. 

Leveque,   176. 

Liberty,  On,  371. 


Lion  Amoureux,  Le,  265,  289. 
Literature,  59,  120;  Danish,  178,  257; 

European,   95;    French,  253,   254, 

255,  256. 
Literature,  History  of,  Thortsen's,  60. 
Little  Red  Riding-Hood,  11. 
Littre,  256,  275. 

Logic   of   Fundamental    Ideas,    155. 
Louise,  Mademoiselle,  173,  237. 
Love  Comedy,  258. 
Lucrece,  255. 
Ludvig,  24. 
Luini,  324. 
Lund,  Jorgen,  39. 
Lund,  Troels,  88. 

M.,  Mademoiselle  Mathilde,  173,  174, 

175,  184. 
Macbeth,  252. 
Machiavelli,  315. 
Mackeprang,  334. 
Macmahon,  290,  295,  296. 
Madmg,  51. 
Malgren,  161. 
Manderstrom,  Count,  161. 
Marat,  167. 
Marcelin,  243. 
Maren,  13,  18. 

Margharita,  Princess,  348,  350. 
Maria,    337,   338,    339,    340,   341,    344, 

3+5,  317,  351,  353,  354,  357,  362, 

364,  365,  366,  367. 
Mariage  de  Figaro,  Le,  167. 
Marmier,  Xavier,  57. 
Martensen,  Bishop,  199. 
Martial,  98. 
Mary,  49. 

Mathilde,  Princess,  265. 
Maximilian,  Emperor,  235. 
Merimee,  231,  254. 
Meza,  General  de,  89. 
Michelet,  264. 
Micromegas,  285. 
Milan,  311. 
Mill,  James,  276. 


INDEX 


395 


Mill,  John  Stuart,  158,  206,  256,  270, 
271,  272,  273,  274,  275,  276,  277, 

315.  371- 
Misanthrope,  Le,  251. 
Mohl,  85. 
Moliere,  251,  286. 
Moller,  Kristian,  208,  209,  211. 
Moller,  Poul,  60,  82. 
Moller,  P.  L.,  260. 
Monrad,  136,  141. 
Mounet-Sully,  250. 
Muddle,  24. 

Musketeers,  Les  Trois,  257. 
Musset,  Alfred  de,  167,  254,  255. 

Nana,  267. 

Napoleon  III,  32,  267,  269,  274,  280, 

283,  284,  285,  291,  292,  294,  295. 
Nerval,  Gerard  de,  257. 
Niebelungenlied,  The,  98. 
Niels,  29. 

Nielsen,  Frederik,  138. 
Nielsen,  Rasmus,  77,  78,  98,  100,  120, 

142,  143,  146,  147,  155,  156,  163, 

178,    200,    220,   221,    222,    224,    236. 

Nina  K.,  35. 

Nisard,  255. 

Nodier,  257. 

Norregaard,  90. 

Notes  sur  I'Angleterre,  245. 

Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  163. 

Noufflard,     Georges,     378,     379,     380, 

381,  382,  388,  389,  390. 
Nutzhorn,  Frederick,  87,  89,  98,   130, 

137,  141- 
Nybbol,  16. 
Nycander,  117. 

Odescalchi,  Prince,  326. 

Odyssey,  The,  6x. 

Oehlenschlager,   32,   60,   94,   223,   257. 

CErsted,  Anders  Sandoe,  97, 

Olcott,  263. 

Ollivier,    Prime    Minister,    269,    284, 

293. 
Once  upon  a  Time,  236. 


Orientates,  Les,  257. 

Over  the  Hills  and  Far  Aivay,  304. 

Ovid,  98. 

P.  P-,  55. 

Pagella,  262. 

Paiva,  Madame  de,  267. 

Palikao,  293. 

Paludan-Miiller,  Caspar,  87,  126,  127, 

128,  257. 
Paludan-Miiller,   Frederick,   127,   128, 

143. 
Paludan-Muller,  Jens,  87,  89,  98,  105, 

125,  126,  127,  136,  141. 
Pantaleoni,  Dr.,  326. 
Pantheism,  102,  107,  108,  110. 
Paris,    163,    i66,    167,    168,    169,    170, 

237. 
Paris,  Gaston,  244. 
Pascal,  228. 
Patti,  Adelina,  169. 
Paulsen,  Harald,  88. 
Peer,  9. 

Peer  Gynt,  258. 
Per,  36. 

Petersen,  Emil,  88,  89,  152,  158,  219. 
Philippe,  Louis,  255,  294. 
Philoctetcs,  94. 
Philosophy,  276,  277. 
Piedmont,  History  of,  280. 
Pilgrimage  to  Kevlaar,  242. 
Pindar,  98. 
Planche,  255. 
Plato,  76,  98,  115. 
Piautus,  98. 

Ploug,   Carl,   lis,   129,   137,   156,   157. 
Poetry,   The  Infinitely  Small  and  the 

Infinitely  Great  in,  228. 
Ponsard,  255,  265. 
Prahl,  268. 
Prevost-Paradol,  285. 
Prim,  Don  Juan,  283,  284. 
Prose   Writings,  Hciberg's,  98. 
Proudhon,  254. 

Rabhi  and  Knight,  219. 


396 


INDEX 


Raphael,  377,  384. 

Raupach,  236. 

Ravnkilde,  Niels,  332,  333. 

Realism,  Ideal,  258. 

Ream,  Vinnie,  316,  317,  318,  319,  320, 

321,  322,  323,  324. 
Regnault,  256,  283. 
Regnier,  167. 
Reiling,  76. 
Rembrandt,  113. 
Rcnan,   152,   242,  246,   247,   256,  267, 

270,  293. 
Kenan,    M.,    L'Allemagne    et    I'Athe- 

isme  au  igme  Siecle,  241. 
Reuter,  Fritz,  258. 
Reventlow,  Counts,  126. 
Ribbing,  28. 

Richardt,  Christian,  S3,  137,  258. 
Ristori,  252. 
Rochefort,  293. 
Rode,  Gotfred,  193. 
Rode,  Vilhelm,  139. 
Roman  Elegies,  361. 
Rome,  324,  325,  326,  327,  331. 
Rosenstand,   Vilhelm,  328,  334. 
Rosette,  Aunt,  17. 
Rosieny,  Marc  de,  264. 
Rossi,  314. 
Rothe,  Clara,  202. 
Rousseau,  254,  255,  308,  309. 
Rubens,  113. 

Runeberg,  Walter,  113,  334. 
Ruysdael,  113. 

Sacy,  Silvestre  de,  265. 

Sain,  386. 

Saint  Simon,  254. 

Saint-Victor,  267. 

Sainte-Beuve,  210,  255,  256,  267. 

Sand,  George,  253,  254,  255. 

Sarah,  Aunt,  22. 

Saredo,  Guiseppe,  333,  334,  335,  336, 

369,  371,  372,  380. 
Savonarola,  315. 
Savoy,  303. 


Scenes  from    the   Lives   of   the    War- 
riors of  the  North,  257. 
Schandorph,  72. 
Schatzig,  22. 
Schelling,  257. 
Schiodte,  J.  C,  201,  232. 
Schleswig,  13. 
Schmidt,  Rudolf,  221,  222. 
School  of  Life,  The,  236. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  257. 
Scribe,  255. 

Sebastian,  54,  55,  56,  63,  64,  65,  66. 
Serrano,  262. 
Shakespeare,  61,  143,  228. 
Sheridan,  286. 
Sibbern,    72,    93,    120,    121,    148,    155, 

257. 
Sickness  unto  Death,  105. 
Signe's  Story,  130,   133. 
Sigurd  Slembe,  129,  258. 
Slesvig,  89,  90,  91,  92,  147. 
Snoilsky,  Carl,  124,  125. 
Snorre,  257. 
Socrates,  76,  151. 
Sofus,  25. 

Sommer,  Major,  91. 
Sophocles,  94,  98. 
Soul  after  Death,  A,  257. 
Spang,  Pastor,  202. 
Spang,  The  Sisters,  202,  221. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  276. 
Spendthrift,  A,  20. 
Spinoza,  loi. 
Stebbins,  257. 

Steen,  Bookseller,  215,  216,  217,  218. 
Stockholm,  160. 
Stuart,  Mary,  223. 
Student,  The,  130. 
Studies  in  Esthetics,  195. 
Style,  Le,  241. 
Subjection  of  Women,  158. 
Supplice  d'une  Femme,  Le,  167. 
Stviss  Peasant,  304. 
Switzerland,  195. 
Synno-ve,  223. 


INDKX 


397 


Taine,  176,  177,  213,  228,  229,  241, 
242,  243,  244,  245,  267,  270,  294. 

Tartuffe,  260. 

Tasso,  31. 

Terence,  98. 

Testa,  Costanza,  169. 

Theocritus,  98. 

Thierry,  Edmond,  251. 

Thomsen,  Grimur,  117. 

Thomsen,  Wiihehn,   135. 

Thoresen,  Magdalene,  129,  130,  131, 
132,  133,  200,   213,  296. 

Thortsen,  60. 

Thorwaldsen,   54,  381. 

Tonietta,  351. 

Topsoe,  v.,  79. 

Tragic  Fate,  The  Idea  of,  134. 

Trepka,  Alma,  202. 

Trier,  Ernst,  90. 

Trochu,  General,  291,  292. 

Ussing,  Dean,  127,  152. 
Valdemar,  25. 


I'alentlne,  254. 

fanity  and  Modesty,  Luini's,  324. 

Veuillot,  238. 

Victorine,  Aunt,  27,  258,  259. 

Vigny,  Alfred  de,  254,   257. 

Villari,  Pasquale,  315. 

Vilsing,  71,  72,  73,  74,  79. 

Virgil,  51. 

Vischer,  Fr.  Th.,  n8. 

Voltaire,  238,  243,  255,  285. 

Voltelen,  Mr.,  6,  11,  20,  21,  27. 

Vries,  239,  240. 

Wicksell,  Knut,  123. 
Wiehe,  Michael,  122. 
Wild  Duck,  76. 
VVinckelmann,  96. 
Winther,  Christian,  61,  124. 
Wirsen,  220. 
fVit/iout  a  Center,  72. 

Ziegler,  Clara,  236. 
Zola,  267. 


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